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7 - ; 

SABINE’S FALSEHOOD. 

(LE MENSONGE DE SABINE.) 

LOVE STORY. 

LA PPJNCESSE 0. 1]ANTACUZlM-AlTllEI. 

(LA PEINCESSE OLGA.) 

TRM'SliTED FROM IRE REVDE DES DEUX MOSDES 
BY^ MARY (NEAL SHERWOOD. 


A 

BY MADAME 


Sabine's Falsehood " zs one of the niost charming stories that has been issued 
for a long time. The book is one that may be put into the hands of any young girl. 
Indeed, sue may go further, azid say it ought to be put in the hands of every young 
girl. The story is exquisitely told, and is one of simple pathos, the plot admirably 
managed, and the characters luell conceived and vividly drawn. The incidents are 
natural, and might easily have come to pass in any Neiv Ettgland totvn. Not only is 
it a love story, pzire and simple, but it is also the story of a sister' s noble self-sacrifice, 
a self-sacrifice of which only a woman could be capable. Sabine arouses our hiterest 
from the beginning : we see in her “ the perfect woman, nobly planned," her z)ery faults 
are virtues m excess. Flora is one of the most bewitching creattzres in znodern fiction. 
The old father, with his hatred of " weeds," and his utilitarian ideas, is very droll, 
and the neighbors in the chateau, the contrast drawn betxveen the romantic old znaid 
and the strong-minded one, is most cleverly managed. The tzvo heroes— for this book 
has two heroes — are, while totally unlike, eqtially interesting and inimitable in their 
way. U-^e heartily recomtnend this story to old and young, many an hotir of pain 
will be soothed by its perusal, and many a lonely znoment beguilecl. IVe feel that all 
will thank us for drawing their attention to “ Sabine's Falsehood," for while 
French, it is not Frenchy — and that they will agree with us in thinking it amusing ^ 
pathetic, delicate, dainty and graceful . — Translator. 


T. B. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PETERSON' & BROTHERS; 
306 CHESTNUT STREET. 




COPY BIGHT, — 1881 . 
B. I»ETHJItS02T 

— - 4 ¥ ' — 


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Xante’s Inlieritance. A Tale of Russian Life. By Henry Greville. 

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CONTENTS.. 

« ♦ « 

Chapter Page 

I. LIFE AT THE CHATEAU 21 

II. SABINE HAS HER 'WAY 37 

m. FIDELITY AND HOPE 66 

IV. CONDITIONS 66 

y. ROSES AND SNAILS 78 

VI. GOD-MOTHER OR GOD-FATHER 86 

VII. FEMININE MANAGEMENT 98 

Vm. RETURN OF THE "WANDERER 115 

IX. AFTER TEN YEARS 129 

X. A MORNING WALK 142 

XI. A PLAN OF ACTION 157 - 

XII. HE LOVED ME ONCE 165 

xm. A DEATH BLOW 177 

XIV. SUGAR AND FRUIT 185 

XV. A PLEASANT CONVERSATION 196 

XVI. WAR 204 

XVII. A MODERN HERO. 217 

XVIII. SNOW AND ROSES 224 

XIX. ALONE 228 


( 19 ) 


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SABINE’S FALSEHOOD. 

(LE MENSONGE DE SABINE.) 

-A. XiO'V'E 

BY lAMME LA PEINCESSE 0. CANTACUZME-ALTIERI. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE REVUE DES DEUX MONDES 

BY MABY NBAL SHEBWOOB. 


CHAPTER 1. 

LIFE AT THE CHATEAIJ. 

A S to the advantages which may result to Agricul- 
xjL ture from a similar system — ” 

Then an attack of coughing interrupted Sabine. 
She endeavored to resume her reading, but the strong 
tobacco smoke filled her throat, brought tears to her 
eyes, and prevented her from distinguishing a word. 
She gasped, choked, and began the sentence again. 
As to the advantages which may — ” 

Tut ! Tut ! ” grumbled Monsieur de la Rulliere, 
“ you never know where you are ! You read the same 
sentences over and over again — you know very well, 
that there is nothing more obnoxious to me! You do 

( 21 ) 


22 sabine’s falsehood. 

it, I honestly believe, merely to annoy me ! Go on, 
will you ? ” 

Sabine’s imperturbable voice resumed her monoto- 
nous reading, which was shortly interrupted by a howl 
from the dog. He had been lying tranquilly asleep 
before the fire in the calm beatitude of warmth and 
laziness, dreaming possibly of a better world where 
dogs belong only to compassionate masters, who are 
always in the most amiable of moods, when a vigorous 
kick recalled him to the hard realities of life. With 
one leap he dashed under a piece of furniture at the 
other end of the room, his tail between his legs, and 
his imploring eyes fixed on his master. 

‘‘ Confound the beast ! ” growled Monsieur de la 
Rulli^re. ‘‘ To think that I have never been able to 
teach him to sleep without snoring! ” 

Hti armed himself with his whip, which was never 
far from his hand, and proceeded to inflict summary 
punishment on the criminal. 

‘‘Not before me, father; not before me!” cried 
Sabine. 

And rising hastily she opened the door, through 
which the poor, frightened animal speedily made his 
escape. 

The open door admitted a blast of cold autumnal 
air. It was raining hard, and the wind rattled the 
window-panes and whistled through the corridors of 
the chateau, sending back the smoke into the salon^ 
and not allowing it to escape through the chimney. 


SABINE S FALSEHOOD. 


23 


This yellow mist, added to the vile smell of the pipe 
which Monsieur de la Rulliere was smoking, rendered 
the air almost insupportable to every one but himself. 

Sabine, however, did not seem to be oppressed by it, 
or even to notice it. She returned to her seat at the 
corner of the fire, drew the folds of her silk skirts 
carefully around her, and smoothing the bands of her 
lustrous black liair with one handsome hand, resumed 
the reading of the article in the Agricultural Magazine 
just where she had been interrupted. 

Monsieur de la Rulliere’s victim having escaped him, 
he went to the fire, and began to poke it with violence. 
He made such a noise that Sabine ventured to take a 
moment’s rest. 

Monsieur de la Rulliere turned quickly toward her, 
his face crimsoned by the heat of the fire, and his eyes 
blood-shot. 

‘AVhy do you stop?” he asked angrily. “Go on! 
I can hear. Go on, I say I ” 

She glanced at the clock. 

“Nine o’clock!” she said to herself. “In a little 
more than an hour he will go to sleep, and I shall be 
free.” 

And she resumed the reading. 

Occasionally, without stopping, she looked over her 
pamphlet to assure herself that her father was not yet 
asleep. When she saw his short pipe — a true laborer’s 
pipe — slip from his fingers, his head fall forward, and 
his chin sink into the folds of his cravat, she gradually' 


24 


sabine’s falsehood. 


lowered her voice. Too sudden silence Avould have 
certainly awakened him. 

Then she sat in silence looking into the fire. The 
dismal howling of the wind, the rain dashing against 
the windows, and the fall of a burning log being the 
only sound that troubled the silence. 

All the evenings in the Chateau de la RulliSre were 
passed in precisely this same manner, and yet, thanks 
to this one hour of comparative solitude and rest — the 
only one that was hers during the whole day — Sabine 
■was not unhappy. It was the hour, in fact, when she 
dreamed of the Past, and gave full scope to her imagi- 
nation — which made her look forward to a Future of 
felicity, which would realize all her dreams of Love 
and Happiness. This hour was to her like a window 
opening upon a starry sky, and enabled her to bear the 
dull monotony of her dreary life. 

When she saw her father move in his sleep, as if 
about to awaken, she closed this mysterious window, 
and drove back into the depths of her heart the 
radiant apparitions which she had summoned to cheer 
her, and took leave of her cherished dreams, as ten- 
derly as a mother separates from her sleeping child, 
and returned to the obscurity of her real life. 

She began to read again in a very low voice, and her 
father, finding that the sentence he heard, as he opened 
his eyes, agreed admirably with that which had accom- 
panied him to the land of dreams, was persuaded that he 
had not been asleep. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


25 


He would have regarded the fact of having yielded 
to the fatigue of a day passed in the open air, as a 
weakness unworthy of liimself. Twelve hours walking 
over tilled fields, a night passed under the stars in 
order to surprise a poacher, a ride of thirty miles 
before breakfast, would neither one, nor all, have been 
an excuse, in his eyes, for being overcome with fatigue. 
Consequently Sabine, who understood all these weak- 
nesses, and was not above taking advantage of them 
occasionally, never allowed him to suspect that she 
had surprised the secret of this siesta which he took 
every evening in his corner by the fire. 

To have done this, would have been to deliberately 
rob herself of this hour of liberty and quiet — the 
rarest of luxuries with her. 

Sabine was not dreamy by nature. Besides, she had 
reached an age when the feminine heart, if its legiti- 
mate aspirations have not been satisfied, can no longer 
abandon itself to reverie without running the risk of 
foundering on the rock of sentimentality — the last 
refuge of gray haired ingenues. She was thirty years 
old, and not married, but had never been conscious 
of a void in her life, or in her heart. 

There was not, however, a touch of superficiality 
about her, all her attachments were deep, her convic- 
tions decided and immovable. She had a great horror 
of vagueness, of uncertainty, and distrusted all senti- 
ments which were not clearly to be defined. 

Bnt above all else, did she abhor falsehood in any of 


26 


sabine’s falsehood. 


its forms, and revolted against all deceptions. Severe 
toward herself, she believed herself to have the right 
to be severe toward others, but there was no fault she 
would not have forgiven, on frank confession and 
honest penitence. Duplicity alone found her stern and 
inflexible, and yet she, who had spent her whole life 
in the task of repressing her own feelings, could not 
comprehend dissimulation. 

She had attained such absolute self-control, that a 
diplomate might well have envied the apparent calm 
with which she achieved her victories, or endured her 
defeats, in the daily contest with her father and his 
tyrannical mandates. 

She rarely asked advice, and preferred to solve for 
herself and by herself, the problems ^he encountered. 
When she had fully matured any plan, she recognized 
no difficulties in her path — she moved straight on to 
her aim, putting in action all the petty means she had 
previously thought out, and employing the very weak- 
nesses and prejudices of her father as weapons against 
him. 

But when victoiy was hers, she had the generosity 
to evince no consciousness that such was the case, so that 
her father, whom she managed by sheer strength of will, 
cherished the illusion that he was absolute master in 
his home. 

Hers was a very masculine character, lodged in a 
feminine heart. She was kind and helpful to the poor, 
but was not chary of reproof and scolded them at times 


sabine’s falsehood. 


27 


very roundly. Monsieur de La Rulliere himself could 
not have expressed his displeasure with more energy 
and decision. 

As Sabine knew precisely what she wanted and what 
she did not want, she announced her wishes and her 
opinions with a frankness which often shocked and 
startled those who did not know her well. She liked 
to tell people the opinions she had formed of them, and 
often uttered some pretty hard truths. With suck a 
character, it was natural that she should be more 
esteemed than loved. 

She was served by respect rather than by affection, 
and she was contented that this should be so. As 
all her orders were dictated by good sense, she was 
obeyed far more willingly than was her father, whose 
contradictory and unreasonable commands assumed a 
practical form only when they passed through Sabine’s 
lips. This was tacitly acknowledged by all, so that 
Sabine finally became the authority of the chateau. 

Monsieur de La Rulliere would have gone mad with 
rage, had any one intimated that each one of his acts 
was controlled by his daughter; and fortunately for 
Sabine, there was no one who was inclined to draw his 
attention to the fact. Her father’s fits of passion 
furnished her with another weapon against him, for she 
never lost her self-control, no matter what he said or 
did, and experience has demonstrated that when two 
persons are of different opinions, he who loses his 
temper and unbridles his tongue, ends by being in the 


28 


sabine’s falsehood. 


wrong, even if he were in the right when the discussion 
began. 

Now Monsieur de La Rulli^re was always angry — 
it was his normal condition, his temperament. He 
made no more effort to conquer this infirmity than he 
did to change the color of his eyes. Since he had 
reached years of discretion — to use a common phrase — 
he had made no exertion to remedy this violence of 
temper, which in fact had strengthened and developed 
with years. His face, too, bore its imprint. 

He was a rugged old man — tall and solidly built — 
an aquiline nose — iron-gray hair cut close to his head — 
a bristling moustache, and heavy eyebrows, which were 
drawn so closely together by his frown, that they had 
ended by meeting. One involuntarily felt that his 
cranium had become as hard as granite. For ten 
leagues about he was heartily detested, the very 
children of the village ran as far and as fast as their 
legs would take them, whenever they saw him coming. 

The son of a frivolous, worldly father, who bore his 
financial ruin as gayly as possible, he had proved the 
truth of the proverb : “ An avaricious son succeeds 
the prodigal father.” 

When Death had stiffened this elegant gentleman’s 
hands, between whose fingers gold had run like water, 
the son seized in his iron grasp the debris of the pater- 
nal patrimony, with the determination of building up a 
fortune; he did not, however, crave gold as much as he 
did land. He wished to be rich, not for the enjoyment 


sabine’s falsehood. 


29 


that riches give — since he was more simple in his tastes 
than the roughest peasants, often dining on a crust of 
brown bread, washed down by a glass of sour Avine — 
nor yet for the pleasure of seeing his capital roll up ; 
but he wanted money merely that he might buy land. 
He had all a peasant’s love for Mother Earth. He 
knew no pleasure in life comparable to that of buying 
a few rods of ground — a corner of meadow land — or 
an untilled and stony field. If, to do this, it were 
necessary for him to take advantage of the necessities 
of some poor Avretch, Avhom he drove elseAvhere to die 
of hunger, or to turn some unhappy farmer Avho found 
it impossible to pay his arrears of rent out of doors, he 
cared little. On tliose days, Avhen he had accomplished 
a deed of this kind, he Avas as happy as Titus when he 
had done a noble act. 

It was not ambition that urged him on, it AA^as simply 
cupidity — a tliirst for the acquisition of acres — a thirst 
resembling tliat of the miser to pile up gold pieces. 
He Avas totally indifferent to public opinion. To have 
influence in his district — to count for some one or some- 
thing, was nothing in his eyes. One day some one 
suggested that he should become a candidate for the 
Deputyship. He refused point blank. 

Why on earth, he asked, should he desire to become 
a Deputy ? Why should he go to Paris to look out 
for the interests of others ? And during all that time, 
who Avould attend to his ? Who would keep their eyes 
open and let him know Avhen there Avas any land to 


30 


sabixe’s falsehood. 


be bought? Who would follow the shifting phases 
.of his interminable law-suit? Who would mount 
guard over his cider -mills and his barns, and who 
would weigh the wool from his sheep ? 

In those days he had not yet made Sabine his factotum, 
and was without the smallest confidence in the Steward 
whom he had been forced to employ. 

With a nature like this, it is easy to see that he did 
not win much affection, but of this he thought little, 
and less of loving himself. He had no time for such 
nonsense ! He married late in life, however, having 
long hesitated at the expense, and also at the annoy- 
ance, of having a woman at La Rulli^re. 

One day he said to himself that he needed a son, to 
aid him when years should weigh heavily upon him — 
a son whom he could bring up as his future Intendant. 
He thought Providence would not fail to assist his 
plans, and would certainly send him a son, whose 
mother seemed to him only an accessory, who was, 
however, unfortunately indispensable and inevitable. 

When, having carefully weighed the pros and cons, he 
decided to give himself an heir, he openly announced his 
intention of marrying. He had only the embarrassment 
of a selection. For twenty years, the eyes of all the 
mothers in the neighborhood had been upon him. 
He was known to be rich and thoroughly range^ having 
never in his life been guilty of the smallest peccadillo, 
and people did not hesitate to say that marriage would 
soften his somewhat savage temper. Having come 


sabine’s falsehood. 


31 


to the conclusion that the neighborhood afforded no 
domain which it was desirable for him to annex to his 
own, he decided in favor of the largest dowry. This 
was the sole motive that determined his choice. 

But he discovered that she who bore this great 
fortune in the hollow of her little hand, was a charm- 
ing young girl of eighteen — he was forty — fair as the 
morn, and as fresh and rosy — with large, soft eyes, blue 
as forget-me-nots, in which tears and smiles were 
mingled ; a gentle, but somewhat lethargic nature, and 
a waxen heart, on which each emotion left a deep scar. 
Such a character would inevitably falter under the 
weight of this iron yoke. 

Albin de la Rulli^re saw clearly that she was too 
young and too pretty for him. He hesitated a moment, 
but then reassured himself by saying that she was 
very amiable and very docile. He would make himself 
obeyed. 

He succeeded from the very first day in .inspiring the 
little creature with such terror, that she did not allow 
herself to differ from him in opinion. She retreated 
within herself, devouring in silence the tears for which 
he reproached her, as for a crime. Dull and dreary, she 
vegetated in the gray shadows of this enormous chateau, 
and in the monotony of this country life, which knew no 
other pleasure than the noisy hunting parties, from 
wdiich she was invariably excluded. 

She wept much at the birth of her daughter, Sabine, 
because Monsieur de La Rulli^re did not conceal his 


32 


sabine’s falsehood. 


dissatisfaction. He seemed to hold her responsible 
for his disappointment, and was unsparing in his 
reproaches. 

But it was worse still when, after fourteen years of 
sterile regrets and bitter reprimands, a second little 
being came into that world which had seemed so unde- 
sirable to the poor mother. When she was told that 
her child was a girl, she felt that she had no more tears 
to shed — no strength to enduj:e this new disappoint- 
ment. She knew that she was about to die, and had 
but one regret — that of not being able to take with 
her that tiny creature, whose father had received her 
with a curse. Who would defend the child ? Who 
would protect her against his tyranny and injustice? 
This question she asked herself as she lay slowly 
dying. 

Sabine, who was then fourteen, never took her eyes 
from the face of this beloved mother. These great 
eyes seemed to read the thoughts of the dying woman. 
Sabine was neither caressing nor demonstrative, she 
was too like her father, but Sabine’s heart was all the 
deeper and fuller, since the power of expression was 
denied her. 

She had never been prodigal of caresses to her 
mother ; but in this last and awful hour, she leaned 
toward her, and gathering the frail creature in her 
arms, she pressed her tenderly to her breast : 

Do not be anxious, dear mother,” she whispered. 
“ Her happiness shall always be dearer to me than my 
own. I promise you this.” 


sabine’s falsehood. 33 

Tenderness and gratitude irradiated the face of the 
dying woman, then she closed forever those poor, 
weary eyes which had shed so many tears. 

From this day Sabine had but one care, one interest 
— her little sister. 

An old and unmarried lady in the neighborhood, 
Mademoiselle Florimoiide des Allais, wished to be 
god-mother to the infant. She thoroughly understood 
the sorrows that had saddened the life which had just 
passed away, and foreseeing for her god-child an 
equally sad existence, she offered most charitably to 
take charge of her. 

Monsieur de La Rulli^re eagerly accepted this offer. 
Then it was that Sabine — child as she was — became 
suddenly a woman. Daring for the first time to resist 
her father, she declared boldly that she would never 
consent to resign her little sister to any one in the 
world, and that she should herself assume all the care 
and responsibility of her education. 

Mademoiselle Florimonde did not urge the point 
further, for she saw that the child would be the one 
interest of Sabine’s young life, and that her heart, but 
for this affection, would run the risk of withering in 
this atmosphere of selfishness and constraint. 

As to Monsieur de la Rullidre, he looked at his 
daughter in speecliless stupefaction. Sabine well 
knew that she had been guilty of a most monstrous 
act, but she was not in the least disconcerted, and bore 
herself with such aplomb, that her father realized that 
2 


34 


sabine’s falsehood. 


for the first time in his life he was to meet with deter- 
mined opposition under his own roof. 

Fully comprehending the weight of the responsi- 
bility she had voluntarily assumed, Sabine, it may be 
said, had no youth. In the sad silence of La Rulliere — 
between her father’s brutal fits of passion, alternating 
with periods of savage sulkiness — and her mother’s 
slow fading away, Sabine had ripened early. 

Her respect for her mother did not blind her to that 
mother’s errors, in the eyes of the energetic Sabine, 
her passive submission was a fault She reflected 
much, hers was not an impulsive or enthusiastic nature. 
When the moment for action arrived, she was alwa3^s 
ready. She resolved not to be a nonentity in the 
house as her mother had been, and said to herself, that 
the only waj^ to establish her authority Avas to render 
herself necessary, or rather, indispensable to her father. 

It seemed as if Heaven, in denying to Monsieur de la 
Rulliere the son on which he had counted, had wished 
to compensate him for his disappointment by bestowing 
on his eldest daughter all the peculiar qualities he had 
most desired in a son. 

Madame de Rulliere had herself superintended Sa- 
bine’s education, and had discovered in her only the 
most mediocre abilities. The child’s mind lay fallow 
under all the details of feminine education which her 
mother endeavored to inculcate. 

Sabine therefore, was abandoned to her oaaui 
devices, Monsieur de la Rulliere considered that 


sabine’s falsehood. 35 

women, as a rule, knew altogether too much, and con- 
sequently never thought of completing her education. 
She instructed herself after her own fashion, devoting 
herself only to studies in which she felt a positive 
interest. This resulted in a most remarkable educa- 
tion for a woman. 

By dint of turning over her father’s books — which 
were almost without exception on Agricultural subjects, 
on rural laws, and other similar questions, by dint of 
asking questions right and left, she ended by thor- 
oughly comprehending the administration of the dis- 
trict. Adding to this knowledge a marvellous clear 
head, and having that self-control her father so lacked, 
she ended by being infinitely more familiar with all the 
details of his estate, than he was himself. 

She surprised him greatly one day by going to him, 
and offering to keep his books. At first, he thought 
this a very poor jest on her part, and was ready to go 
off* in a rage, but thought better of it. He had noticed 
quite recently with what marvellous lucidity she had 
explained to one of their neighbors all the details of a 
law suit. Then, too, the very resistance that Sabine 
made to him — the energy with which she moved about 
the chateau, had inspired him with a certain respect 
for his eldest daughter — the human heart is thus consti- 
tuted. • He said to himself, therefore, that since Fate 
had been unjust enough to refuse to give him a son, 
that there was something pleasing in the idea of giving 
his eldest daughter the place of that son who had 


36 


sabine’s falsehood* 


never chosen to make his appearance. It seemed to 
him that this would be a defiance to Fate. 

This notion tickled his fancy, and he accepted 
Sabine’s offer of assistance. Only as he had always 
meant his son to be his Intendant, it was to this post of 
honor that he elevated Sabine. She was sixteen when 
she began these laborious and prosaic occupations, 
which absorbed her youth, and robbed it of its care- 
less gayety. 

As to his second daughter, Monsieur Rulli^re almost 
forgot her existence, so careful was Sabine to keep the 
child out of her father’s presence. She was growing 
fast, however ; and when she was seven years of age, 
Sabine began to doubt the wisdom of her own determi- 
nation. Realizing fully as she did, the deficiencies of 
her education, she felt that she was not altogether com- 
petent to direct that of her sister. 

Besides, she had not time enough to give to her, the 
child was left too much with servants, and fled in haste 
as soon as she heard her father’s step. She had no 
playthings, and no companions of her own age, and 
her youth would have been the saddest in the world 
had she not found an immense source of pleasure in 
those amusements which the country offers to children. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


37 


CHAPTER 11. 

SABINE HAS HER WAY. 

S HE had lived among her chickens and rabbits, 
without acquiring that air of robust health which 
fresh out of door air ought to give. 

She was a dainty creature, with a complexion like a 
sweet pea — and with hair that spread like a golden fleece 
over her slender shoulders ; she resembled her mother, 
but had more mobility of expression in the contour of 
her dewy lips, and more depth in her large gray eyes. 
Sabine saw that this child had none of her own robust 
health, nor any of her energy and strength of will — 
in short, that in spite of their being sisters, they were 
singularly unlike. The child would never be a country 
girl like herself, and she was not long in deciding that 
the greatest proof of affection she could give was 
to send her away from the parental roof. 

One evening, when Monsieur de la RulliSre was sip- 
ping his coffee in his corner by the fire — the only self- 
indulgent moment he permitted himself during the 
day — Sabine said abruptly: 

‘‘ I am going to Paris ! ” 

Her father wheeled around in his chair, and looked 
at her. He absolutely thought she had lost her wits. 

“ I think too, that I will take Florine with me,’* 
continued Sabine quietly. 


38 


sabike’s falsehood. 


Monsieur de la Rulliere saw that it was time for him 
to begin to rage. 

Sabine did not interrupt him, but when the temper 
was abating she made a second cup of coffee to replace 
that which Monsieur de la Rullidre had upset. 

I see that your memory is not as good as mine,” 
she said calmly. 

‘‘Will you ever be done with this nonsense?” cried 
her father, “ what is the meaning of this mystification?” 

“ There is no mystification on my part. I am speak- 
ing most seriously. Have you forgotten that at the time 
of my poor mother’s death, her sister, my aunt d'Ess^, 
proposed to take us to live with her?” 

“ Oh ! if that is what you have in your head,” 
sneered Monsieur de la Rullidre, “I advise you to 
accept the invitation. Do you really think that I shall 
allow you to accept a seven years’ old invitation — one 
too, to which I never condescended to reply, as it was 
couched in terms of the sweetest compassion, all chosen 
to make me understand that she was desirous of releas- 
ing my two unfortunate daughters from the most 
barbarous tyranny? Does this authorize you, I should 
like to know, to tumble like an avalanche into the arms 
of this Parisienne, and to put your little sister under 
her maternal protection? I might have known that 
you would come to this, and in my opinion it would 
have been far better to have accepted the proposition 
made by that old simpleton, Florimonde, at which you 
flouted with so much indignation. The offer was a 


sabine’s falsehood. 


39 


good one. I tell you so now, and I told you so then. 
The offer was a good one and a sensible one.” 

‘‘ The invitation given by Madame d’Ess^ is only a 
day old,” answered Sabine quietly. I received a 
letter from her yesterday, in reply to one which I sent 
to her.” 

“ Did you dare write her without my permission ? ” 
exclaimed Monsieur de la Rulliere. “ That is a 
little too much ! ” 

‘‘ Madame d’Essd is my mother’s sister,” said Sabine. 

“Do you think I don’t know that? and this is 
precisely the reason why you should not go near her.” 

“And she has no children,” continued Sabine 
quietly. 

“ Well? ” said her father, without understanding. 

Sabine hesitated. It was very disagreeable to her to 
bring forward an interested motive which in reality 
had no weight with her, but which she knew to be all 
powerful with her father. 

“ And no direct heirs ? ” she finished in a low, almost 
regretful tone. 

Monsieur de la RulliSre stopped, quite struck by 
this new idea. In his resentment against Madame 
d’Ess^, whose interference had both wounded and 
offended him, he had thought of her simply as one of 
his wife’s relatives, who was in league with her to 
brave his authority and disappoint his hopes. But 
Sabine had suddenly discovered her to be an aunt with 
a fortune to bequeath. 


40 


SABIN e's falsehood. 


A smile of satisfaction, not to call it a grimace, 
parted Monsieur de la Rulliere’s thin lips. 

“ Bravo ! my child ! ” he said, with a sarcastic bow 
to Sabine. ‘‘I congratulate you! You are far clearer- 
headed, far more wide-awake than I supposed. Ah ! 
Sabine I what a pity it is that you are only a woman. 

1 have a notion that had you been a boy, we two would 
have done great things. We might have bought up 
all the District. Yes, you shall go, my daughter ! — ^you 
shall go I And this Madame d’Ess^, what fortune is # 
she likely to have ? ” 

The prospect of this inheritance falling into his 
hands, for Monsieur de la RulliSre looked upon himself 
as immortal, gave that gentleman much matter for 
thought. He condescended to give Sabine some 
advice in regard to the manner in which she should 
make her journey, and forgot to cry out indignantly 
at the amount of money she asked from him. 

Sabine started therefore for Paris, with an old 
servant and her little sister. The idea never entered 
Monsieur de la Rulli^re’s head that it would be more 
proper were he to accompany his daughters, and 
Sabine took every care not to suggest it to him. 

Sabine was then in all the brilliancy of her youth 
and beauty. She was as straight as a young poplar, 
carrying high her noble head crowned by masses of 
black hair, drinking in large draughts of air and life, 
her whole aspect unconsciously aroused thoughts of the 
country and the open air. She was a beautiful flower 


sabine's falsehood. 


41 


of the fields, wholesome and brilliant — her whole 
appearance offering the greatest' possible contrast to 
the delicate, poetical air of her young sister. 

There was something satisfactory and comforting in 
this young plant, and one felt that it was easy for her 
to protect and sustain the frail existence that asked 
support and assistance from her. Sabine’s great black 
eyes burned with a steady fire, her energetic expression 
made her look older than she was, and when a smile 
did not part her lips — as red as a pomegranate flower 
— and show her gleaming teeth, her expression was 
almost too severe for a woman. 

She reached Paris with all her provincial ignorance. 
All was new to her. All would interest her, but as 
she had decided precisely what she was to do, she did 
not allow herself to be distracted from the end she had 
in view. She was like her father in that she calculated 
as well as he, but differed essentially from him, since 
the aim of her calculation was never her personal 
advantage. 

She had said to herself that Madame d’Essd would 
probably take a fancy to the little orphan. At Paris, 
Flora would find all the advantages of education 
which never could be procured for her at La Rulliere. 
She realized her own ignorance. She knew she had had 
no youth, and dreamed of making the child gay and 
happy, and of seeing her accomplished in all those 
things which she herself had never learned. 

But before separating herself from the child of her 


42 


sabine’s falsehood. 


adoption, before confiding her to other hands she 
wished to assure herself with her own eyes that she 
was doing that which was best for her. 

She resolved, therefore, not to let her aunt suspect, 
her projects until she had thoroughly studied her. 

Madame d’Ess^ was an amiable woman and had 
doubled the cape of her fiftieth j^ear, and was as 
sparkling and gay as her sister had been pale, sad and 
faded. Having never had any children, she had lived 
without cares ; not a line had furrowed her pretty rosy 
face, framed in little gray curls, in which invariably 
nestled, under pretext of a bonnet, a cluster of violets 
or of rose-buds. 

She was the kindest and most obliging person in the 
world. There was not a charity concert nor ball of 
which *she was not a Lady Patroness. She was Presi- 
dent of one benevolent society. Secretary of another, 
and connected with half a dozen more. She was a 
religious woman — a benevolent woman — but above 
all else, she was a woman of the world ! 

When it was necessary to carry aid to the poor, she 
never shrank before any of the horrors of poverty, 
but the idea of spending an evening alone with her- 
self rendered her unhappy a week in advance. Not 
being very exclusive, and erasing from her visiting list 
only those who would have driven away otliers, she 
had one of the most agreeable salons in Paris. This 
salon was her petted child, her pride, and her daily 
bread, and everybody agreed that there was never 
a hostess half as amiable, or as accomplished. 


Sabine’s falsehood. 43 

She received the two orphans with open arms, and 
shed sincere tears as she embraced little Flora, who was, 
she said, “ so like my poor sister ! ” How happy she was 
to be able to pet and spoil this darling, who seemed so 
delicate, and had never had a mother to fondle her. 
What delight it would be to her to take her about ! 
How all the ladies whom she would meet would 
caress her! Poor little soul! What a sad childhood 
she must have had ! It was not astonishing that 
she should be so pale and so transparent. She had 
suffered probably every privation, like her * mother 
before her, who had been driven to the last extremity 
by the avarice and brutality of her husband. 

Madame d’Esse did not realize how far her romantic 
imagination had led her. Her surprise was great 
therefore, when Sabine, who had listened in silence, 
said coldly : 

“ You are mistaken, aunt. Mamma had no material 
deprivations to endure — no more than I.” And she 
threAV back her head with some haughtiness. 

Madame d’Ess^ looked at her in amazement. This 
tall girl, fresh and brilliant as a nosegay of wild flowers, 
with her provincial toilette and her abrupt manners, 
made her feel that she, a woman of the world, was 
deficient in tact. This was in some degree humiliating 
to her; but it added a new sentiment to the attention 
with which she examined this niece, who was so little 
like the niece she had pictured to herself before her 
arrival. 


44 


sabin^e’s falsehood. 


She said to herself that this frankness and the decis- 
ion with which Sabine expressed her opinion, was 
' original and piquant. She noticed the odd fashion in 
winch Sabine wore the braids of her rich hair, and the 
ceremonious dignity of her courtesies, which made her 
appear like a youtliful grandmother, and decided that 
she would be careful how she transformed the country 
girl into a Parisienne. There was a certain elegance 
about the girl, an element of freshness, which it would 
be delightful to introduce into salon — something 
like a fresh breeze, which she would carefully treasure 
and dole out to her habitues. She would amuse them 
with Sabine’s little naivetes,, as she would offer them 
from time to time, the fashionable tenor, or the two- 
headed nightingale. 

Sabine had so little experience in the world, and was 
too ignorant of its usages, to perceive at once the rSle 
that was given her to play. She was uncomfortable in 
her new surroundings, and as restless as a traveler 
wandering through a country, of whose customs and 
languages he is entirely ignorant. At each step, she 
came across a difficulty, and was guilty of some trifling 
error, which provoked a smile because she was young 
and beautiful ; or she uttered some school-girl naivete,, 
which was applauded as if it had been a clever and 
charming witticism. But as she had not come to Paris 
to amuse herself, still less others, she soon came to the 
conclusion that all this was very empty and very 
superficial. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


45 


Under this surface of worldly commonplaces, she 
perceived snares and rocks, the existence of which she 
had never suspected, and her incorruptible good sense 
made her feel that there was something humiliating in 
the curiosity of which she was the object. 

She had not been a fortnight with Madame d’Ess^, 
when she was seized with remorse that she had come. 
She felt that her visit was thrown away, for she could 
never consent to confide her little Flora to her aunt. 
Madame d’Essd enjoyed the well deserved reputation 
of being a successful match-maker, and had always 
around her a swarm of young girls. Sabine said to 
herself, that rather than see her sister resemble one of 
these dolls, who fiuttered around her aunt, she would 
shut her up forever at La Rulli^re. She had a vast 
amount of provincial prudery, and was astonished and 
scandalized by things that a girl brought up in the 
world would never have noticed. 

All the women about her seemed, to her eyes, 
coquettish, affected and light. She wished her little 
Flora to study, to talk well, and be able to shine in a 
salon, and even if necessary, walk through a quadrille 
— a thing which seemed to her more complicated than 
one of her father’s law-suits. But to transform this 
sweet, innocent child into one of those young girls, 
whose dresses were so outrageously low, who seemed 
ignorant of everything except dancing, and who whis- 
pered to each other behind their fans, was a most 
repugnant thought. No, she would rather see her grow 


46 


sabine’s falsehood. 


lip a wild country girl, and she would take her back to 
La Rullidre as quickly as possible. 

Her mind was pretty well made up ; but she waited a 
little, in order to be quite sure that she had not made 
a mistake, and should not have anything to regret in 
the future. Madame d’Ess^, enchanted by the anima- 
tion which her nieces gave to her house, and especially 
by the excuse they furnished for all sorts of parties and 
entertainments, did her best to keep them with her. 
Sabine was too prudent to bind herself by any prom- 
ises, and had never uttered a word which could have 
revealed to her aunt the hopes she had conceived for 
Florine. The world by which she was surrounded 
terrified her, and yet, she Avished to know it a little 
more thoroughly, before leaving it forever. Madame 
d’Essd gave her every opportunity, taking her out con- 
stantly to the theatre as well as to church — to a ball, 
as Avell as to charitable meetings. 

One evening there were very few people in the salon 
of Madame d’Esse. The conversation, therefore, was 
more general than usual. Among the habitues was 
the author of a new play, about which all Paris was, 
for the moment, talking. Each person had, in turn, 
giA^en his opinion, lavished praise, or had hazarded some 
of those benevolent criticisms, destined in advance to 
be victoriously refuted, as Avas necessitated hy the 
presence of the author. 

The conversation began to languish. Madame 
d’Ess<5 was at the end of her resources, and did not 


sabuste’s falsehood. 47 

know what to do to reanimate the circle, when in her 
despair, looking around the room, her eyes fell on 
Sabine, who, quietly seated in a corner, had not opened 
her lips. 

There is still another opinion to be given on our 
friend’s play,” she said. ‘‘ My niece has not given 
hers.” 

^ “Absurd ! As if the opinion of a country-bred girl 
like myself, could have any value ! ” said Sabine, 
somewhat curtly. 

“ It is for us to judge whether it has or not. Made- 
moiselle,” said the author. 

“ Do you mean,” asked Sabine, “ that you want my 
frank and honest opinion ? ” 

“ Most certainly ! Your frankness and honesty will 
flatter me greatly, even if your judgment be severe,” 
said the author, who expected some triviality. 

“Well then, sir,” said Sabine, looking him full in 
the face, “I think you show a very contemptuous 
opinion of us all — men and women — by compelling 
us to remain two hours in the companionship of the 
ignoble persons to whom you have presented us, and I 
think we ought to blush for ourselves that we can 
applaud 'situations, which in real life would cover us 
with shame. The truth is, our whole social system is 
corrupt — and whose is the fault, sir, if not yours and 
that of other men of your stamp ? ” 

“ Sabine ! hush ! ” said Madame d’Ess^, who began 
to see that she had made a mistake in launching her 
niece in this reckless way. 


48 


sabine’s falsehood. 


But Sabine had taken the bit between her teeth, and 
was not over disposed to submit to restraint at any 
time. She inherited this from her father. 

think,” she continued, in a voice hoarse with 
indignation — ‘‘ I think it is impossible to retain health 
of mind or health of body, when one breathes poisoned 
air, and I maintain that if you accustom us women 
to hearing, without a blush, things like those to which 
I have been obliged to listen ever since I came here, 
you have no right to ask us to remain honest and pure. 
You might as well ask us to lie down in the mire, and 
rise without a smutch on our garments ! ” 

Madame d’Ess^ tried to smile. 

‘‘ I know you will excuse my little savage,” she said 
to the author. 

He smiled indulgently. 

I am sorry to be compelled to assure you. Made- 
moiselle,” he said, ‘‘ that no one of these scenes, which 
have greatly scandalized you, is of my invention, and 
that my play, even in its smallest details, is a faithful 
reproduction of that which one encounters in real life. 
These things which you find so shocking, come to pass, 
alas ! every day, in society.” 

“ Then that which you call society, is a sad and 
horrible thing — and I greatly prefer to be with my 
cows and my chickens, and shall return to them as 
soon as possible ! ” 

Madame d’Ess^, seeing that it was useless to make 
any further attempt to silence her niece, skillfully 


sabine’s falsehood. 49 

changed the conversation, mentally promising herself, 
that she would be wiser another time. People began 
to talk of other things, and Sabine, who was not in an 
amiable mood, remained alone in her corner. 

This conversation was the last drop in the cup already 
filled to the brim with hesitations and doubts, and led 
her to the immediate decision that she would leave 
Paris the next day, and carry off with her this little 
sister, who should not remain to grow up in this atmos- 
phere of corruption. 

“And you are perfectly right,” said a voice in her 
ear, replying to her very thoughts. 

She turned quickly, and blushed to the roots of her 
hair. 

Of all the gentlemen who had been presented to her, 
there was but one who had inspired her with more 
interest than the others. She had remarked his digni- 
fied reserve, and the rarity of his words, always 
characterized by sense and sincerity. Roger de Barge- 
mont was the only person whom she would regret in 
leaving Paris. Madame d’Ess^ spoke of him con- 
stantly, as a young man of great promise, who had a 
career before him. He h?vd passed with brilliancy 
through the Polytechnic school, but Sabine had never 
heard that he said brilliant or especial clever things in 
a salon^ and esteemed him all the more. In her eyes — 
for she was not easily dazzled by appearances — Roger 
de Bargemont’s reserve concealed greatness of heart 
and soul. He was, besides, a very good looking fellow, 
3 


50 


SABIN e’s falsehood. 


tall and well built, and Sabine was of too healthy and 
primitive a nature, not to admire this type of haughty 
masculine beauty. 

She had admitted to herself that Eoger pleased her, 
but had never asked herself where this sympathy 
might lead her. She had had no hesitation in saying to 
her aunt how much she liked him, seeing no reason for 
being ashamed of the feeling. 

She was now deeply wounded at seeing that Mon- 
sieur de Bargemont approved of her plan of departure. 

“ Why do you think it best for me to leave Paris ? ” 
she asked, with some sharpness. 

He saw that she was piqued, and looked at her with 
a mischievous smile. 

“You gave, yourself, the best of reasons. We are a 
set of corrupt and pestiferous beings — a lazarretto— a 
hospital — heaven knows what! The only way to 
escape contagion is, it seems to me, to fly with as much 
speed as possible into purer air. As for ourselves, we 
are poor incurables, we have nothing to do but to 
prouch in the mire of our vices, without even the hope 
that some friendly hand will be extended to assist us.” 

Sabine looked at him earnestly. 

“You are laughing at me, I think! You consider 
me intolerant, exaggerated and uncharitable. And yet, 
in the depths of your heart, I am convinced that you 
agree with me, and that if you had the responsibility 
of bringing up a child, as I have, and wished her to 
become a good, true woman, that you would be as 


sabine’s falsehood. 


51 


terrified as myself at the idea of what she might 
become if she were to remain in a place where she 
could hear such strange things.” 

“Excuse me a moment. I am most decidedly of 
your opinion, up to a certain point. Excellent, perfect 
as your aunt is, she is the very last person in the world 
to whom I would confide the education of my little sis- 
ter, if I had one. You have possibly noticed, that in this 
salon^ one of the most agreeable in Paris — I do not 
wish to decry it in any way — the society is some- 
what mixed. I must admit that I have even felt the 
most profound compassion for this poor little child, 
who is dressed too much, who is kept up too late, and 
who hears much, that fortunately, she is unable to 
understand.” 

“ Then you think me wise in taking her away ? ” 

“ Did I not just take the liberty of telling you 
that you were right — perfectly right ? ” 

Sabine’s tone changed. It was even with some 
sadness in her voice that she said, slowly: 

“I had allowed myself to fanc}^ — I hardly know 
why — that I had found a friend in you. I see 
now that I was mistaken. I shall carry away this 
disillusion with the host of others I have been gradu- 
ally accumulating since I came here. I hoped that 
you would advise me, but you only laugh at me.” 

Roger became at once very serious. He had been 
greatly amused by Sabine’s violence, but when he saw 
that she was really grieved, he was filled with remorse. 


52 sabine’s falsehood. 

Like almost all men of energy and courage, he became 
timid before a woman’s tears, and he thought he 
detected a suspicious moisture on Sabine’s lashes. 

He had in reality, while laughing at her . exaggerated 
views, conceived a very sincere respect for this frank 
and honest nature. He was really unhappy that he 
had pained her, he seated himself at her side on the 
sofa, where Madame d’Essd — who liked to arrange mys- 
terious and isolated corners — had placed her behind a 
screen of tropical plants. His tone and manner 
changed entirely, and looking at her with an expres- 
sion in which Sabine, inexperienced as she was in 
matters of sentiment, thought she read more tenderness 
than regret at having offended her, he said : 

“ You are not mistaken. Mademoiselle, and if the 
assurance that you have made a friend, can recom- 
pense you for some of your lost illusions, I am only 
too glad to offer it to you.” 

Sabine felt a thrill of joyous surprise. 

Is that really so ? ” she cried. ‘‘ I accept your 
friendship, and shall rely upon it, then ! ” 

She frankly extended her hand — her handsome 
hand which, if a little large and a little brown, was 
beautifully shaped. 

Roger was quite delighted with her manner, but at 
the same time asked himself if this absolute lack of 
coquetry might not be as dangerous as the opposite 
excess. 

“ And now,” said Sabine, “ I have the right, have I 


sabine’s falsehood. 


53 


not, to ask your advice ? Reflect well before you give 
it, for I warn you that this is the first time I ever, asked 
advice from living soul. Until now, I have acted 
according to my light, and so far have had no reason to 
repent; but now, I find myself on a new territory — I 
have lost all my landmarks — I fear lest I shall wan- 
der out of the right path, and am only too glad to 
throw on some one else the responsibility of my de- 
cision. I intend to speak to you with the most entire 
frankness. I have brought my little sister here, hoping 
that my aunt would take a fancy to her, and would 
propose to educate her. You agree with me in think- 
ing this plan altogether unsuitable? Then what would 
you advise ? I live alone with my father in a chS^teau 
far from the world, without the smallest resources either 
for society or culture. Our only visitors are my 
father’s hunting friends, my only associates two old 
ladies who were left over by the last century. Ought 
I to carry my darling, my adopted child, back to this 
desert, give her an education as incomplete as the one 
I myself have received, and bring her up in total igno- 
rance of the world and life ? ” 

“ Heaven forbid ! ” cried Roger involuntarily. 

Sabine smiled. 

“ She would run the risk, you think, of becoming a 
second edition of myself, a. little savage — rude, awk- 
ward and uncultivated? But what would you have? 
My mother died when I was but fourteen. Since then, 
no human being has ever troubled himself about me. 


54 sabine’s falsehood. 

And besides, I was obliged to occupy myself with mat- 
ters which do not generally fall to a woman. I was 
also compelled to assert m3^self in order to obtain and 
preserve my authority over my little sister, and gain 
the right to bring her up as I thought right. And now 
that I have this authority and this right, I do not know 
what to do with it.” 

If,” said Roger, “ I exclaimed against your plan of 
bringing up your sister in the depths of a solitude as 
absolute as that in which your childhood was passed, it 
was not that I was influenced by unflattering opinions 
of yourself. Would to God that more young girls 
had your clear head — your horror of deception and of 
all forms of falsehood. But believe me, too great moral 
susceptibility is not without its dangers. It is best 
that a woman should not allow herself to be too much 
scandalized by things which she must inevitably meet 
on her daily path through life. In my opinion, it is 
absolutely indispensable for every human being to live 
with other people, and early learn to submit to the con- 
flict of opinions and to opposing characteristics. Do 
you know what I would do if I were in your place ? 
I would place my little sister in one of these Parisian 
convents, which are no more like the convents of other 
days, than the present manner of travelling is like that 
of old times, and then — ” He checked himself. 

She completed his sentence. 

And then I would return to my solitude.” 

‘‘I did not say that — ” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


55 


‘‘ I thank you, at all events, for your frank advice, 
and I shall act upon it ! ” 

But to do this, was more difficult than Sabine sup- 
posed, and she had codrage to carry it only partially 
into execution. Flora was placed in a convent, Mon- 
sieur de la Rulliere making no other objection than to 
grumble at the large sum demanded by Sabine. The 
child quickly became accustomed to her new sur- 
roundings, and was soon indeed far happier than she 
had ever been either at La RulliSre or at her aunt’s, 
but Sabine said no more of going home. 


56 


sabine’s falsehood. 


CHAPTER III. 

FIDELITY AND HOPE. 

E ach day she found some new pretext for excus- 
ing her delay in her own eyes. For the first time 
in her life, she deceived herself. A thing had hap- 
pened to her for which she had made no calculation. 
In her prosaic life, where dreams had played no part, 
she had never thought of interrogating her heart, to 
know if in its depths lay a latent faculty which would 
some day develop. Her imagination had never yet 
been touched. The necessity of loving and of being 
loved, had not yet tormented her serene spirit. 

The activity of her life, and the positive and absorb- 
ing nature of her occupations, had prevented her 
from entertaining any thought of love and marriage. 
Besides, at Rulli^re, she had met no one who would 
awaken such thoughts. At Paris, all was different. 
The absence of her habitual occupations forced her to 
idleness, and her mind Avas compelled to follow the 
natural current of the conversations she heard. Almost 
before she knew Avhat it was to love, she loved with all 
the ardor of her strong nature, without reticence, cau- 
tion or calculation. Her affection, which had begun 
with esteem and admiration, knew no limits. She did 
not take much trouble to conceal it, and her secret was 


sabine’s falsehood. 57 

ill guarded. Roger had never thought of loving her, 
when he perceived the sentiment with which he had 
inspired her. 

He was at first more startled than gratified. He 
esteemed Sabine — he thoroughly respected her — having 
for her the sincere friendship of a brother or com- 
rade. She was beautiful, clever and energetic. He 
would have liked her for a friend or for a sister — he 
would have confided to her without the smallest hesi- 
tation, the honor of his name, but he had never 
dreamed of asking her for the happiness of his life. 
He did not for one moment indulge in the illusion that 
what he felt for her was love. He shook hands with 
her without once desiring to retain in his, those cool 
fresh fingers that responded so cordially to his grasp, 
and met her clear eyes without the smallest discom- 
posure. 

Roger, in his youthful dreams, had often traced the 
ideal portrait of the woman who should be his wife, 
the half of himself. He had pictured her as delicate, 
gentle, timid and poetical, even somewhat fragile. She 
would be a slender, graceful creature, who would 
require the support of his arm — the light of his fire- 
side, and the joy of his home. He experienced none 
of this intoxication with Sabine — if she became his 
wife, one need of his nature would remain forever 
ungratified. She could become the companion of his 
life, but there never would be one ray of romance in it. 
There was a certain brusqueness about her, something 


58 


sabine’s falsehood. 


uncultivated and bitter, which offended his taste as a 
man of the- world. When he was talking with her he 
felt his teeth on edge as if he had eaten a sour apple. 
Her very beauty, incontestable as it was, seemed too 
severe to him. He would have liked her features 
better had they been less regular and more seductive. 

It was impossible, however, for him to remain 
insensible to the love which he knew he had inspired. 
He was touched and flattered by it. He never feigned 
a tenderness he did not feel, but he lacked courage to 
repel this heart which gave itself to him with such 
naivete, 

Sabine had one of those natures who find it more 
blessed to give than to receive. Happier in loving 
than in being loved, she did not see that Roger’s feel- 
ings toward her were but compassion and gratified 
vanity. She was perfectly satisfied with his kindness, 
and easily persuaded herself that she was beloved. 

Madame d’Ess^ had had too much matrimonial 
experience not to perceive the romance going on in her 
salon. She was quite ready to assume the merit of 
having managed it from the beginning, and now gave 
the young people every opportunity of meeting. She 
finally came to the conclusion, however, that the affair 
was lingering too much, and as she was acute enough 
to see that all the hesitation was on Roger’s side, she 
spoke to him openly. 

He did not conceal the fears that withheld him. 
Madame d’Essd soothed them with such good effect, 


sabine’s falsehood. 59 

that she succeeded in persuading him that the calmer 
affection and esteem with which her niece inspired 
him, offered far greater chances of happiness than 
those impassioned caprices which cannot maintain their 
early effervescence, and inevitably end, by degener- 
ating into indifference, sometimes even into disgust. 

And then Roger said to himself that it was quite 
possible that the F uture yet held in store for him that 
ecstatic bliss of which he had dreamed, and of which he 
saw no gleam in the Present. Sabine was young, her 
decided character might change and soften under the 
influence of happiness and love, as acid fruit becomes 
mellow and sweeter in the sunshine. 

Who could say that she was not destined to realize 
one day the dream which had caused him to look 
forward to a marriage, wherein his imagination would 
have as much part as his heart and reason. He 
allowed himself to be persuaded, and asked Sabine’s 
hand. 

She accepted him with a joy mingled with the 
most touching gratitude for the happiness he offered 
her. Her naive humility contrasted strangely with 
her habitual self-assertion. Roger congratulates 
himself in all sincerity on having put an end to his 
hesitation, and as he had a heart as generous as 
Sabine’s, he was happy in the happiness he conferred 
rather than in that which he received. Then, too, 
Sabine’s beauty now acquired precisely that charm 
which it had heretofore lacked. In short, they had a 
brief period of perfect happiness. 


60 


sabi^^e’s falsehood. 


Sabine who was never selfish, said that this marriage 
would be an excellent thing for Flora. She would be 
missed a little by her father, but he would be easily 
consoled, particularly if he should chance to find an 
intelligent factotum who would take her place. 

Of course Monsieur de la Rulliere fell into a rage 
when he received the ceremonious letter in which 
Madame d’Esse transmitted the demand of her pro- 
tegd. But as there was no one on whom he could 
wreak his anger, it quickly blew over. 

Among the pieces of information given him in 
regaid to his future son-in-law, there was one which 
opened new horizons before him. 

Monsieur de Barge inont was an orphan, he was 
twenty-four, and his fortune having been managed by 
a guardian had probably been increased during a long 
minority. At twenty-five he would enter into the 
possession of his fortune, and would naturally have 
investments to make. Naturally too, his father-in-law 
would be the person to whom he would turn for advice, 
and in this way he might be induced to purchase some 
land in the vicinity which would, soon be in the market. 
Monsieur de la Rulliere rubbed his hands joyfully at 
the idea. 

With the same pen that he had just dipped into the 
ink to write an abrupt refusal, he inscribed an almost 
courteous letter, in which he announced his immediate 
arrival in Paris. 

He hardly looked at his future son-in-law, and made 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


61 


no effort to study his character, but rushed at once 
into the only question that interested him — that of the 
contract. 

He bargained like a true Norman over Sabine’s 
dowry, and would never have thought of the trousseau^ 
if, happily for her niece, Madame d’Ess^ had not under- 
taken it. Sabine lived in a happy dream — her love had 
metamorphosed her. Each new emotion softened and 
made her more feminine — more like the ideal dreamed 
of by Roger. All was ready for the marriage, the 
contract was drawn up, and only awaited the arrival of 
Roger’s guardian to be signed, when a terrible piece of 
news brought to the ground this carefully constructed 
edifice of happiness. The guardian had killed himself, 
and left his papers in the most frightful disorder. 
Only one thing was certain, that was the complete 
disappearance of the fortune with which he had been 
entrusted. . 

Without a shadow of hesitation. Monsieur de la Rul- 
liere at once withdrew his consent, and hurried back 
to his Penates, taking Sabine with him. His only 
regret was for the money which he had been compelled 
to spend. To console himself in some degree, he 
purchased a new mowing machine by which he had been 
long before tempted, and was surprised to see how 
little interest Sabine took in it. He understood noth- 
ing of his daughter’s feelings. After all,” he said to 
her, what earthly difference did it make ? She was 
not unhappy before, and she would not be again, as 
soon as she was settled down.” 


62 


sabine’s falsehood. 


Roger, as a man of honor, said of course that Sabine 
was free from her engagement to him. Madame 
d'Ess^ approved of his course. Sabine alone would 
not hear of reclaiming her liberty. She declared that 
she was ready to marry Roger — to share his poverty — 
even to work for him, if it were necessary. 

He refused with unconquerable obstinacy. Sabine 
regarded this refusal as an excess of delicacy. Roger 
quickly decided on his course. In reality, however, 
the battle of life did not greatly terrify this youthful, 
energetic nature. He felt within himself strength to 
conquer misfortune. 

He resolved to go to America, and putting to prac- 
tical use his brilliant education, would become an engi- 
neer. Sabine loved him so ardently, that she thought 
her heart would break when he announced this project. 
She timidly and humbly begged permission to follow 
him. 

‘‘Would not a woman,” she asked, “be a help rather 
than a hindrance in the struggle he was about to 
begin ? ” 

He refused with decision to accept this sacrifice, and 
his energy was such that poor Sabine, for the first time, 
had a cruel suspicion of the truth, and asked herself 
with sudden terror, if she were loved as much as she 
loved. She swore eternal fidelity in spite of all he 
could say. Although Roger absolutely refused to 
consider her bound to him by any promise — although he 
warned her that he should even relinquish the happi- 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


63 


ness of writing to her, and that she would never hear 
of him until he returned to France after making a 
fortune, she refused to accept her liberty, and swore 
that she would remain faithful unto death, and would 
bear no other name than his. 

He knew her to be as obstinate in her affections, as 
in her ideas, and understood that he could not, with 
her, as with another woman, rely on the action of Time, 
which wears away even a stone, and Absence, which 
blots out so much. 

He accepted therefore, in spite of himself, these 
promises and oaths, and departed. 

For ten years Sabine never heard his name. 

Madame d’Essd was dead, and Flora still in the 
convent. 

Every year, during the holidays, Sabine went to Paris 
to spend a few days with her, staying at the convent, 
as she knew no one in Paris. She took no steps to 
obtain any intelligence of Roger, never attempted to 
write to him, but measuring his love by hers, awaited 
his return with unshaken faith. 

Nowithstanding the solitude in which she lived, she 
could have married if she had chosen. The mere 
suggestion brought a blush of shame to her cheek. 
Before her conscience and her heart she was Roger’s 
wife — her love, far from growing weaker, had thrust 
its roots deeper than ever. 

In her large-hearted generosity, she found excuse for 
the only wrong that Roger had ever done her — that is 


64 


sabine’s falsehood. 


to say — for the eagerness with which he had restored 
her liberty, and even elevated it to the dignity of 
heroism. 

At thirty, Sabine’s beauty had lost the dazzling 
freshness that had been so much admired in her aunt’s 
salon. The open air, which withers women and flowers 
so quickly, had taken some of the whiteness from her 
skin, and somewhat sharpened her regular features. 
Her shoulders were broader, her hands were stained, 
the decision of her step had degenerated into hrusquerie. 
The habit of issuing commands to her inferiors, had 
imparted a certain asperity to her clear voice. She 
was, nevertheless, very beautiful, imposing, dignifled 
and thoroughly self-possessed. 

Of all the glories of her twenty years, she had 
alone preserved intact, her magnificent hair, and the 
brilliancy of her superb black eyes. She was exces- 
sively careful in her dress, saying to herself that Roger 
might return at any moment — she did not wish to be 
taken at a disadvantage, and was always careful for his 
sake. This was her sole feminine weakness ; but the 
imprint of her positive nature was to be found even 
in this weakness. That which seemed to her the height 
of elegance, v/ould have struck most women as being in 
doubtful taste. She loved gay colors — heavy stuffs 
which fell in massive folds — shining satins th;it caiio-ht 
the light. Her ornaments were cumbrous and conspic- 
uous. In her tete-cUtete dinners with her father, who 
did not take the trouble to change his shooting coat 


sabine’s falsehood. 65 

and his muddy gaiters, and in this isolated chS-teau, she 
dressed with as much care as if she had been in Paris, 
at her aunt’s, and wore the laces and ornaments that 
had been prepared for her trousseau. 

Her toilette offered the strangest possible contrast to 
her surroundings. Monsieur de La Rulli^re made it 
his constant butt, but his sarcasms glided like waters 
over marble. Sabine expected Roger, w'ho must not 
find her in a n^glig^ costume. This dash of feminine 
weakness in this courageous masculine nature, had in 
it something pathetic, which entirely escaped her 
father's eyes. 

4 


66 


sabine's falsehood. 


CHAPTER IV. 

CONDITIONS. 

O N the evening when this chapter opens, Sabine 
wore a' robe of changeable green, on which the 
leaping flames in the fire traced golden arabesques. 
Her fingers sparkled with precious stones, and she 
formed the luminous centre of this dismal, scantily-fur- 
nished salon^ whose architect seemed to have endeavored 
to present it as a model of an uncomfortable room. 

Sabine was more absorbed than usual in her recollec- 
tions or reflections, for she did not notice that her 
father was awake. He emerged from his slumbers 
with his customary growl : 

Well! why don’t you go on? Why do you stop? 
Read on.” 

“ No,” said Sabine, “ I wish to talk to you.” 

“ Make haste, then ! ” 

Sabine hesitated. Her heart was softened by her 
hour’s contemplation of the Past, and she did not speak 
with her usual quick decision. 

I wish to say something to you about Flora — ” 
“No; I will have nothing to do with that foolish 
machine ; it consumes coal like a locomotive. Flori- 
monde, who always looks on such things as inventions 
of the devil, may well be forgiven if she regards this 


sabine’s falsehood. 


67 


as one. No, I will have nothing to do with it, and I 
am astonished that you can advise it. I tell you, I will 
not hear another word on the subject.” 

“ I have no intention of alluding to it, I assure you. 
It was not of Florimonde des Allais that I wished to 
speak to you, but of her god-child, your daughter 
Flora, whose existence you seem to have forgotten.” 

“ Indeed, I have not ! You take precious good care 
to remind me of her every quarter. The bills I have 
to pay for that child’s education, are simply preposter- 
ous, and when I think that you never cost me a cen- 
time, I feel all the more indignant. Don’t you ever 
propose to take her from that Convent ? I have 
allowed you to do too much as you please about it, 
but now I intend to make a change.” 

That is precisely what I wanted to say to you. I 
have made up my mind that she had better come home 
now.” 

‘‘Come home! Come here, do you mean? No 
indeed — we have annoyances enough here already! ” 

“ Then what will you do with her? ” 

“Well! I don’t precisely know. Let Florimonde 
have her, I suppose. In fact, I think that is just the 
thing to do.” 

A peculiar smile passed over Sabine’s lips. 

“ That is precisely what I intended to propose,” she 
said. 

“ Indeed ! I fancy this is the first time in our lives, 
that we began by agreeing,” 


68 


sabine’s falsehood. 


‘‘And whose is the fault?” asked Sabine. 

“ What a question ! It is for me to give orders, and 
for you to obey them without discussion.” 

“We will not enter on that point now,” said Sabine, 
abruptly. “We were talking of Flora. Have you 
ever thought that the Allais estate — ” 

Her father interrupted her. 

“ You know perfectly well what I think. It is 
impossible to suggest to me a new idea on the matter. 
I have turned it over and over in my mind. You 
know, as well as I, that when des Allais was alive, I 
brought suit after suit against him, hoping to disgust 
him with the estate, by proving to him that the annoy- 
ances connected with it were endless. He died of it all, 
poor man ! And since then, it has been even worse. I 
can’t make Jacques angry, as I did his father. His 
two heels are planted in the centre of his patrimonial 
estate, and he is as insensible to every thing I do to 
worry him, as are the flies that rest on his long nose. 
There is nothing to be done with the fellow, but it is 
an infernal shame to see that flne estate go to rack and 
ruin, under the management of those two crazy women, 
and of that stupid, who goes about collecting butterflies, 
and admires a corn-field, only when it is full of poppies 
and bachelor’s buttons. Jacques will never sell les 
Allais, of that I am certain ! He would eat the grass 
off his meadows, and die of hunger first ! There was 
one other solution — the only possible one. Whose 
fault was it, I should like to know, that it did not 
succeed? ” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


69 


“ Pray do not let us resume that old discussion, you 
know it is absolutely useless,” said Sabine, with an 
impatient gesture. 

‘‘ I must say that I fail to comprehend this nonsense 
on the part of a young girl as reasonable as yourself. 
Your fine Parisian gentleman will never make his 
appearance again, you may be sure ! He was quite too 
eager to get away, and the idea of refusing for such a 
motive ! ” 

“In the first place I never refused my hand to 
Jacques, and for the best of reasons, he never asked 
me for it ! ” 

“ And why ? Because he never dared. He is too 
much afraid of you ! ” 

“ Will you kindly drop this subject ? There is how- 
ever still another way of uniting the two estates of 
La Rulli^re aind des Allais.” 

Her father looked at her. 

“ At one time,” he said slowly, “ I had a notion of 
asking one of the old ladies to marry me.” 

Sabine felt a cold chill. This was indeed a new 
idea to her. 

“ Ydoine is the one who would have suited me 
best, because she is nearly an idiot,” continued Mon- 
sieur de la Rulliere, who seemed to be bent on teasing 
his daughter. “ She would be an agreeable companion 
for you, and would assist you in the care of the 
house — ” 

Sabine made an impatient movement. 


70 


sabine’s falsehood. 


I have a more sensible suggestion to offer,” she 
said. What would you say to a marriage between 
Jacques and Flora ? ” 

Hum ! it would not be such a bad combination, 
but Flora is a child, and Jacques — ” 

‘‘Is thirty, like myself — ” 

“It is an excellent idea — an excellent idea,” mur- 
mured Monsieur de la Rullidre, meditatively. 

“ But I should make certain conditions. When 
Jacques is my son-in-law, he shall drain that wretched 
lake, which he values as he does his eyes, and which 
makes the whole country damp. He shall plant a 
vineyard on that side hill which he has covered with 
rose bushes. It is a good southern exposure. I shall 
make him dig up Ydoine’s flower garden, for there 
never was such a place for beets, and he must cut down 
those enormous cedars. They will make splendid 
timber, but they shade the kitchen garden too much 
as they stand — and he shall — ” 

“No, you will do nothing of the kind! Jacques, 
gentle as he seems, is as obstinate as he is timid. Be- 
lieve me, I know him well, and if I talk of giving 
Flora to him, it is because I consider him worthy of 
her. I agree with you in thinking it advisable that 
these two estates shall be united under the same admin- 
istration. But this will never come to pass in your 
life, nor in mine. And why? Because Jacques, when 
he has a tenant who can’t pay his rent, claps him on 
his shoulder, and says, ‘never mind, my friend, you can 


SABINE ‘S FALSE HOOD. 71 

mate it right the next time.’ When he knows that one 
of his workmen is obliged to sell his tools to buy bread 
for his family, he buys them at double their value, and 
gives them back to him. All this is bad management, 
and not what you and I would do ! We are detested, 
but go you and ask the peasants on the Allais estate 
what they think of their master ! They all adore him. 
Jacques is proud of their afiFection, and would not 
change his system for all the fathers-in-law in the 
world!” 

‘‘Then what advantage do I reap from this mar- 
riage ? ” 

“ Flora’s happiness I ” 

“ Pshaw I That is of little consequence ! I suppose 
you will ask me for another dowry.” 

“ You received one with my mother, I believe ! Buir 
we have not reached that point yet. I wish to bring 
Flora home at once. She will see Jacques. I will do 
my best to make them mutually pleased, and if I suc- 
ceed, you will make no opposition to the marriage. 
But if they do not fancy each other, I wish Flora to be 
absolutely free, and that you will permit me to keep 
her here all her life long, if she desires it, even if I 
myself, should some day leave you.” 

“It strikes me that you are dictating conditions,” 
sneered Monsieur de la Rulli^re. “ I warn you that I 
have lost my confidence in your wisdom since you 
made such a fiasco at your aunt’s. I have an excellent 
memory. You talked about a fortune that was going 


72 sabiis'e’s falsehood. 

begging — and what was the result of that journey to 
Paris, I should like to know ? Frightful expenses, a 
broken marriage, and a few thousand francs bequeathed 
to you by your Aunt, out of charity, and so tied up 
that I can’t touch them. An insult from beyond the 
grave ! You made a frightful blunder there, my poor 
girl. I wish you better luck in your new combination. 
I wash my hands of it all, and merely consent to give 
the shelter of my roof to your sister, on condition that I 
see as little of her as possible — that she shall make no 
noise — never touch the piano, nor have work baskets 
and embroidery about on the tables.” 

‘‘ I think I may go on with my reading,” said Sabine. 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


73 


CHAPTER V. 

BOSES AND SNAILS. 

I T was raining — not one of those delightful showers 
whose large drops splash as they fall on the dry 
earth, giving to the leaves a brighter varnish — fertili- 
zing the seeds in the earth, from which exhales a good 
healthy odor — but one of those persistent rains smell- 
ing of mould, which the sun finds when he rises, and 
leaves when he sets, in full possession of a sky uni- 
formly gray. The leaves fall slowly, one by one, not 
torn off by the winds, brilliant and gay in their autum- 
nal hues, but limp, sticky, and of a dull brown hue. 
They fall heavily, laden with dampness, to finish 
decaying in the pools of muddy water standing under 
each tree. 

The birds, with drooping wings, and sad looking 
plumage, hide themselves in the bushes, the swallows 
have departed, and the slugs are the only creatures 
that enjoy this dreary weather. 

No great pains had been taken to welcome Flora de 
la Rulli^re to the paternal mansion. Nature had 
assumed her most sulky air. This was what the girl 
herself said as she stood looking out of the window, 
with her forehead against the glass, watching the per- 
sistent falling of the rain. She felt like crying. Her 


74 


sabine’s falsehood. 


heart was very heavy, for if a convent is a land of exile 
— a cage — a prison — for children who have exchanged 
for its calm routine, the caresses of a mother — the 
indulgences of grand-parents — the warmth and tender- 
ness of a home — to the eyes of the little orphan who 
had never known her mother, and who had never seen 
her father except in a passion or in a mood of utter 
indifference — the convent represented family joys and 
entire felicity. 

Sabine, whom she saw once a year, was to her more 
like an aunt from the country — ora distant cousin, 
than a sister. On reaching this chateau, which she but 
faintly remembered, it was like going among strangers. 
Flora’s nature was like that of the ivy, and like that 
plant, threw out a thousand tendrils to wind around 
the things she loved, it was an indispensable condition 
of her existence. She had been abruptly torn up from 
the warm soil of the Convent, where she vegetated 
amid kindness which was increased by her being 
motherless, and by her sweet and gentle nature, and 
had been transplanted to these cold surroundings. 

She stood between her father’s sulky indifference and 
the undemonstrative affection of her sister. She shiv- 
ered and suffered. Never were two sisters physically 
and morally, more unlike than Sabine and Flora. 

Nature seemed to have done her very best to create 
in them the two most opposite types of feminine beauty. 
She had endowed Sabine with positive and masculine 
characteristics rarely found in a woman, reserving for 


SABINE S FALSEHOOD. 


75 


the younger sister that irresistible combination of grace 
and weakness, which attracts and attaches — that 
subtile charm which disarms envy itself. 

Sabine might inspire sympathy, but if this were 
once awakened, it never failed to knock against one of 
the numerous angles of her nature. She was esteemed 
and admired. Homage was duly rendered to her 
moral value, but she had no power to make herself 
beloved. 

This deep heart, with its wealth of tenderness, had 
not the faculty of expressing that which it felt so well. 
She was like a fire that burned itself out, but gave 
forth neither heat nor flame — she was one of those 
persons fatally destined to be misunderstood. No 
accord seems to exist between the sentiments they feel 
and those they express, and as they are invariably 
judged by appearances, people pass them by indifi'er- 
ently or with hostile glances, accusing them of 
coldness, rudeness and egotism. 

Flora, with the wonderful sensibility of her nature, 
— which vibrated at the smallest emotion — with her 
great gray eyes the most poetic of all hues, because their 
faint hue reflects all other tints — with her rippling hair, 
in which a ray of sunlight seemed to have become 
entangled — had but to show herself to be loved. The 
delicate oval of" her face had all the charm and purity 
of childhood, her dewy lips, when not parted with a 
smile, had a certain touch of sadness, and the soft tints 
of her skin reminded one of the pink and white bios- 


76 sabine’s falsehood. 

soms of the sweet pea, but her greatest charm was 
that she did not know herself to be charming. 

When she arrived at La RulliSre, she illuminated the 
old chateau with her presence. She was the incarnation 
of youth and poetry, but after she had been there two 
days she smiled no more. Her father had scarcely 
looked at her — 

“ You are not tall of your age,” he had said, as he 
would have spoken to a child of four years of age. 

He added : 

“ Your hair is as yellow as ever.” This was all. 

Sabine had all her accounts, which had accumulated 
in her brief absence, to look over and bring up to date, 
and had no time to spend with her. What should she 
do with herself? the girl wondered. 

When she had arranged her slender possessions, she 
looked over Sabine’s books, pamphlets on agriculture 
and the like, of which she understood nothing. She 
went to the piano. It had been her mother’s, and the 
ivory keys were yellowed by Time. If she had examined 
closely, fungi might have been discovered between the 
broken strings and the mouldy wood. Under Flora’s 
fingers, those notes which vibrated at all, uttered 
sounds hoarse and plaintive as sighs. She started, and 
quietly closed the dying instrument. Should she go 
out? It was still raining. She stood for a long time 
at the window, looking straight before her. Why had 
Sabine taken her from the convent? No one needed 
her here, no one loved her, no one wanted her. She 


sabine's falsehood. 


77 


had neither interest nor occupation, and she looked 
forward with dread to a long succession of aimless days. 

Tears finally gathered in her eyes and stood on her 
long lashes. Youth has its hours of sadness, which 
seem to be a presentiment of the miseries of life — or 
may it not be the ennui of a heart that suffers from the 
very development of its faculties, not yet knowing 
what to expect from them ? The prospect before 
Flora’s eyes was so discouragingly monotonous, that 
she did not even take the trouble to wipe her tears 
away. 

The chateau de la RulliSre was indeed one of the 
least interesting piles of brick and mortar that was 
ever seen, with its long, severely plain faQade, pierced 
by two rows of windows, and surmounted by its 
slated roof. On the right and the left of a large, 
square court-yard, extended the servants’ quarters. 
A massive gate separated the court-yard, from the 
highway. Beyond, Flora saw the kitchen garden, 
the gravel walks at right angles, the cabbage-beds and 
borders of parsley and thyme, and its long rows of 
fruit trees trained against the wall. Further off still, 
lay a succession of plowed fields, without one sugges- 
tion of vegetation. It was all so miserable and so 
dreary, under that gray mantle of rain, that she closed 
her eyes in disgust. 

A step was heard in the court-yard. She had already 
seen two farm hands and a poultry girl pass. 

‘‘A peasant, probably,” she said to herself, as she 
looked down on the person approaching. 


78 


sabike’s falsehood. 


His appearance was certainly singular. The rain was 
pouring from his enormous cloak, his head was covered 
with a felt hat, from which his blonde hair and beard 
escaped in a flood — he took enormous strides and car- 
ried in his hand a small basket, covered with green 
leaves, through which Flora perceived roses. He was 
walking very fast, moving his thin, long legs with 
wonderful rapidity. Flora supposed him to be one of 
her father’s tenants. She saw him enter the hall door 
and dismissed him from her thoughts, but in a moment 
or two more, she turned quickly, on hearing the door 
of the salon open. 

An individual appeared on the threshold, and there 
stood, with amazement written on every feature, look- 
ing at her with eyes wide open. The water dripped 
from his garments, and his enormous boots left large 
marks on the parquet, while his beard was as curly as 
that of a marine god. In one hand the new comer 
held his felt hat, and in the other his little basket. He 
was badly coiffe^ badly dressed. He required a good 
tailor, and wise use of scissors on this exuberant beard, 
and some few weeks of intercourse with the world, to 
make of this most awkward personage, a man in the 
least presentable in a salon. All seemed of an exagge- 
rated length with him — the hands, the nose, and also 
the oval head, which expressed an innocence near akin 
to naivete. One single feature, however, was sufficient 
to redeem this strange face, and prevent it from being 
ridiculous. His forehead was high and broad, admi- 
rably modeled, and was that of a dreamer — of a poet. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


79 


He looked so surprised, that Flora laughed ; but as 
he continued to stare at her in silence, she began to feel 
annoyed. 

“ Do you wish to see any one? ” she asked. 

At the sound of her voice, he awoke from his trance, 
for that was the condition into which he had been 
plunged by the sight of this exquisite human flower. 
He often looked for an hour at a rose-bud. 

‘‘ Forgive me ! ” he said slowly. I came — I thought 

— is not Mademoiselle de la Rulli^re here? ” 

“ If you wish to see my sister Sabine, I will go for 
her,” Flora replied, considerably embarrassed, not 
knowing where to place her visitor, or whether she 
should offer him a chair or not. 

Oh I thank you ; it is unnecessary. I can wait,” 
stammered the unhappy man as, blushing to his ears 
and stumbling like an intoxicated person, he made his 
way to the chimney, and seated himself on the edge of 
a chair in front of the crackling logs. 

He placed his basket on the floor at his feet, covering 
it with his cap, then putting his hands on his knees, he 
again began to stare at Flora with an absent sort of 
expression, as if listening to distant music. Flora 
thought he looked like a simpleton, and wondered who 
on earth he could be. Never would it have entered her 
brain, that this was the man whom her sister had 
selected as her husband. 

When Sabine appeared, she advanced with extended 
hand, exclaiming : j 


80 sabine’s falsehood. 

“Ah! Jacques. You know each other, I hope! I 
remember, Flora, that when you were little, you were 
afraid of him. I hope now, however, that he will be 
your best friend, as he is mine.” 

“Thanks! thanks!” said Jacques, struggling with 
his diffidence, and rubbing his great, red hands together 
as he spoke. 

They all sat around the fire, and spoke of Sabine’s 
trip to Paris, which was the great event of the day, 
and of the rain — that inexhaustible subject of con- 
versation between people who live in the country. 

Sabine perceived the little basket. 

“What have you there?” she asked. “Roses? 
Give them to Flora, she will enjoy them.” 

Jacques handed them awkwardly to the young girl, 
leaving the cabbage leaves that had covered them in the 
basket, which seemed to contain something else. 

“ These are the last of the season,” he said. “ I just 
saved them from the rain.” 

Flora received them with such grace, that a flush of 
pleasure mounted to the brow of their visitor. 

“ These are the first flowers I have seen, since I have 
been here,” she sighed, as she spoke. 

Jacques smiled. 

“ Monsieur de la Rullidre I believe does not tolerate 
them,” he said. 

Then he added, in a lower voice, and almost in spite 
of himself: 

“ But he has been obliged to admit one, nevertheless 
— one fairer than any of mine.” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


81 


He stopped, astonislied at his own boldness. Flora 
looked at him in wonder, hardly realizing that the com- 
pliment was addressed to her, or perceiving the strange 
contrast between his appearance and his words. The 
girl’s amazement increased in the course of their conver- 
sation — for the more Jacques talked, the more she per- 
ceived his erudition. He was not a mvant^ he was a 
thinker. He had selected a small circle among the 
Slite^ with whom he lived on the most intimate terms, 
and spoke of them as if he had known them personally. 
Feimlon, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre and Chateaubriand, 
and all those authors who appealed to the heart and 
the imagination, and induced reverie ratlier than spec- 
ulation, were his favorites. The romances of Chivalry 
enchanted him at thirty, quite as much as had his 
aunt Ydoine’s fairy stories, in his childhood. 

Living almost exclusively among his beloved heroes, 
he had come to look upon them as if they were living 
beings. When he read Don Quixote, one thing alone 
struck him, and that was the touching enthusiasm of 
the poor Hidalgo. All the rest was a dead letter to 
him. 

Jacques des Allais wandered through his ancestral 
domain with Lancelot and Roland, not in the least 
suspecting that he would, himself, have afforded to 
Cervantes a thorough type of his hero. His education, 
lacking as it did all contact with men and the world, 
was very defective. The amount of enthusiasm accu- 
mulated in his heart, was almost incredible. This 
5 


82 


sabine’s falsehood. 


rugged stone only awaited the first shock, to throw 
out a spark. 

Jacques, amid the commonplace cares of his daily 
life, and the dull routine of an existence in the country, 
was tormented by one distress. He longed to become 
one of those heroes whose noble deeds were his adora- 
tion. In vain did he question Fate, from no point of 
his horizon could he see the opportunity for which he 
panted. Then he was crushed and discouraged, and 
not being able to find in the world, the ideal of which 
he dreamed, he looked for it within himself. 

Monsieur de la Kulli^re told him coarsely, that he 
brought too much poetry to his fields, and not enough 
manure ! The fields were the sufferers undoubtedly, 
but Jacques’ heart and character were like a marvel- 
lous garden, in which all fair flowers of poetry blos- 
somed, covering with their shadows the germs of 
unselfishness and martyrdom. 

Sabine had never understood Jacques, whom she 
called a dreamer. Flora divined far better than she, 
all the greatness and generosity of this great heart — 
its latent enthusiasm and its exquisite delicacy. The 
first feeling she had for liim was pity. Seeing him so 
timid and so awkward, she felt that this winged spirit 
and this heart, gushing with perpetual music, must 
suffer, like a bird in a cage, from its coarse and rough 
exterior. She felt toward Jacques as she would toward 
an invalid, who was to be pitied and treated with 
infinite compassion. Her voice involuntarily assumed 


SABIN e’s falsehood. 


83 


a caressing intonation, as she spoke to him, and Jacqnes, 
who had never been so happy, responded by pouring 
out the treasures of his heart and mind. Pie was 
interesting, pathetic and brilliant. Sabine would never 
have recognized him, and congratulated herself on the 
cleverness of the idea she had conceived of marrying 
these two persons. 

They talked of books — that inexhaustible subject for 
Jacques, but one that the defects of Sabine’s education 
prevented her from joining in. 

The day was drawing to a close, the flickering fire 
on the hearth was soon the only light in the room, and 
threw strange shadows on the tapestried walls. Flora 
listened breathlessly, forgetting this man’s muddy 
boots, his shabby dress, red hands and faded eyes. A 
faint smile was on the girl’s lips, as she drank in the 
perfume of poetry exhaling from his words, and the 
delicious odor that the warmth of the room brought out 
from her roses. 

A light movement among the folds of her dress 
lying on the floor, startled her. Involuntarily — with 
a movement common to women — she put down her 
hand to draw her skirts around her. She uttered a 
sudden cry of terror, and leaped from her chair. Long 
shining streaks, looking in the firelight like silver, 
striped her black dress, over which a dozen snails were 
slowly moving. 

Jacques uttered a cry of despair, and red as any 
school boy, darted to his little basket. The leaves that 


84 sabine’s falsehood. 

covered it were pushed aside, giving free outlet to a 
whole army of snails. They first took possession of his 
felt hat, and then finding the space too limited, they 
spread in every direction, over the rugs and the furni- 
ture. Not one remained in the basket. 

Jacques turned a most penitent face toward Sabine : 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, humbly. They were 
all in their shells, it never occurred to me, that the heat 
of the room would bring them out. You know — they 
are for the Pectoral Syrup that my aunt uses.” 

He addressed Sabine. His instinct told him that, in 
this matter, she would be more indulgent than her 
sister. 

‘‘Wretched little creatures!” she exclaimed; “they 
will spoil everything ! ” 

“ Oh, no ! ” answered Jacques, innocently. “They 
won’t do any harm. A little water will make it all 
right.” 

But it was not of the rug or the furniture that 
Sabine was thinking, however. 

“ You ought to have left the basket in the ante- 
room,” she continued harshly, much in the tone with 
which she would have reproved a troublesome child. 

“ Forgive me ! ” stammered Jacques. 

He looked so utterly miserable, that Flora wished 
Sabine would say no more, and when he turned to her 
and repeated his humble “ Forgive me,” she listened to 
the dictates of her heart, and extended her hand. He 
took it between his two huge paws, not daring to press 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


85 


it, and held it as if it were some fragile thing which he 
feared to break. 

Flora was touched to the heart, but could not have 
explained why, even to hei’self. She turned away with 
heightened color. 

‘‘ To prove to you that I am not displeased,” she 
said, ‘‘ I will assist you in looking for your fugitives ! ” 

When Sabine saw them busy in tracing out the 
gleaming lines left by the snails, and heard her sister’s 
silvery laugh, mingled with the reiterated excuses of 
her poor friend, she said to herself. 

‘‘After all, Jacques was right — the snails have done 
no harm ! ” 


86 


sabine’s falsehood. 


CHAPTER VI. 

god-mothee oe god-fathee? 

HE next morning, one faint ray of sunshine, trem- 



J bling and reluctant, endeavored to pass the vail of 
mist that concealed the earth. It was like a smile amid 
tears, and was reflected from all the diamond drops 
which the rain had spread over everything. There was 
a general rejoicing. Cocks crowed, birds shook out 
their damp feathers and fluttered from branch to 
branch, shaking their little heads occasionally, as if 
they were not altogether satisfled with the look of 
the weather after all, a butterfly tried to fly, but had 
mistaken the season, and fell back heavily among the 
dead leaves. 

“We will take advantage of this change to make 
our visit to Les Allais,” said Sabine to her young 
sister, as soon as Monsieur de la Rulli^re had disap- 
peared for the day. “ I will order my pony round. If 
you wish to walk on, take the road by the river, but 
remember to keep to the right all the time. You can’t 
make a mistake and I will overtake you.” 

Flora delighted at any change, gladly accepted this 
proposition. 

The Park at La Rulliere had once been very beauti- 
ful, but the utilitarian mania of its proprietor had 


sabine’s falsehood. 87 

neglected nothing which could rob it of all grandeur 
or poetry. He could not prevent the great chestnut 
trees however, from throwing their limbs across the 
avenue like the arches of a gothic church, nor the wild 
flowers from growing among the grass in the early 
spring, and yet he kept up a constant war on these 
poor flowers, which, as he said, ruined his hay ! 

And the river that rippled through the willows and 
the tall reeds, and leaped over the stones in its path, 
had he not tried to imprison it like a canal between 
the two banks, and keep it in its regular bed ? 

It constantly rebelled against this tyranny, and one 
fair spring day, having called the snow from the 
mountain to its assistance, it tore away all the em- 
bankments, and washed together the sand and stones, 
just enough to form picturesque cascades under the 
very eyes of its persecutor, who looked on in helpless 
irritation. After this, he gave up the contest, foreseeing 
only defeats should he persist. 

On the day of which we write, the stream, swelled by 
the rain of the previous days, murmured its little song 
of triumph, and pretended to be a mountain torrent. 
It gurgled, and splashed along, bending the tall yellow 
reeds in its mimic fury. Wagtails fluttered over the 
sand, and wild ducks rose in the air, as Flora walked 
slowly on, treading on the piles of dead leaves, and 
listening to that faint murmur that rises from the earth 
after a rain. 

Naturally impressionable, she was saddened by this 


88 


SABIjS'e’s falsehood. 


aspect of Nature which, indicative of suffering as it 
was in her eyes, was not without a certain charm. A 
loud voice startled her. 

Upon my word ! ” it said. That is my god-child, 
I am certain ! ” 

Flora had seen no one, and the rush of the water 
had prevented her from hearing a sound. She turned 
hastily, and found herself face to face with a huntsman, 
who had a gun over his shoulder and a game net at 
his side. 

Was he a young man? 

His short hair was gray. A long tunic of heavy 
cloth was belted around his slender form and fell to 
his knees. Gaiters imprisoned his slender ankles and 
legs. The remarkabl}^ small feet were in stout boots, 
and a round hat covered the head of this singular 
person, who wore no beard, and whose black eyes 
sparkled with eagerness. 

Without the smallest ceremony, he advanced to 
Flora with extended arms, and applied a sonorous kiss 
to each cheek. 

‘‘Well! my dear, how are you?” he cried, much 
louder than was necessary, he evidently tried to make 
it more masculine in its tone than it was by xiature. 

Flora vaguely recognized the face, but she could not 
remember that she had had a god-father. She replied 
with some hesitation : 

“ I am very well, Sir.” 

The huntsman burst into a shout of laughter that 


SABINe’s false li god. 


89 


lasted until Sabine’s pony-wagon appeared in the 
distance. 

Sabine as she came up, stopped her pony. 

‘‘ We were just going to your house,” she cried. 
“ You will have to go back with us. There is room in 
my carriage, for we don’t mind being crowded. You 
can take Flora in your lap.” 

Sabine,” whispered Flora, “ you have not told me 
the name of this gentleman.” 

It was now Sabine’s turn to laugh. 

‘‘ This gentleman is your god-mother, Mademoiselle 
Florimonde des Allais, and you could have offered her 
no higher compliment tlian to take her for one, I assure 
you! That is what you pose for, is it not, Flori- 
monde?” 

‘‘At all events, it is not for you to find fault with 
me,” said the old lady, dryl}^ “ May I ask what you 
pose for, with your dazzling toilette ? ” 

“ Ah I a truce to quarrels for to-day,” said Sabine, 
wounded in her only vulnerable side. Don’t let the 
child think that we are on bad terms, when, in reality, 
we are the best friends in the world.” 

But notwithstanding Sabine’s good intentions, the 
conversation was at first only a rolling fire of petty 
stings. The habit of contradicting each other was so 
deeply rooted in these two women, that it was impossi- 
ble for them to refrain when they were together. It 
was Sabine’s great amusement, particularly as the old 
lady was quick of wit and clever in repartee. Flora 


90 


sabine’s falsehood. 


looked at this strange person in silence, she could not 
become accustomed to her disguise. There was too, 
an expression in her face which displeased the young 
girl, her black eyes had too much fire, she thought, 
for them to be capable of expressing any gentle senti- 
ments. 

She was mistaken, nevertheless. Mademoiselle Flori- 
monde was sincerely good and amiable. Flora con- 
ceived for her, however, from this very first moment, 
one of those unconquerable antipathies, so frequent, 
and so difficult to uproot, especially among children, 
and Flora was no more capable of reasoning upon her 
impressions, than an infant would have been. 

She was soon weary of following the conversation, 
she listened to it with divided attention, and ended by 
being completely absorbed by the aspect of the country 
through which she was driving. 

Vague recollections of her childhood clung around 
those winding roads, that old mill, and the misty out- 
lines of the distant hills, she gathered them up, as 
one does the words of a half-forgotten song. They 
went through a pine grove. The pony moved very 
slowly, his feet half buried in the fragrant needles. 
The barks of the trees were covered with brown and 
orange lichens, the sun shone warmly, touching the 
rain-drops still hanging on the stiff cones, and making 
the green tufts of moss sparkle like emeralds. Squir- 
rels peered at them from among the branches, crows 
cawed as they lazily floated through the air, and a 
delicious odor rose from the damp leaves. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


91 


How lovely I And how nice it is to be here ! ” 
murmured Flora. 

Something stirred among the bushes. 

“A partridge ! ” cried Mademoiselle Florimonde. 

To leap from the low carriage, and shoulder her gun 
was the affair of a minute. 

She quietly picked up the still panting partridge, 
and examined it carefully. 

“Red claws ! ” she said with great satisfaction. “ It 
is 5mung and tender too. An excellent shot that was I 
Here, child, this is a present from your god-father! 
You will eat it for m^e. Drive on, I will go across 
the fields on foot, and shall be there as soon as you 
are.” 

She tossed the partridge on Flora’s knees, the girl 
drew back hastily. There was a drop of blood on 
her dress. She dared not touch this bird, whose pretty 
head was half hidden. 

“ Sabine ! ” she said softly, when they were alone. 

“What is it?” 

“ Is not this cruel ? ” 

“ One can’t very well eat living partridges I You 
must not be sentimental, child.” 

“ Oh Sabine, my heart tells me that to make any 
creature suffer, merely for our amusement, is a 
pleasure unworthy of a woman.” 

“You and Jacques would agree finely. He thinks 
just as you do. But, petite^ you must not be severe 
in your judgment of these two old maids. They have 
never loved, and therefore — ” 


92 


sabine’s falsehood. 


She stopped short. Her voice was hoarse with 
emotion. 

Flora looked at her sister in amazement. Was it 
regret that transformed her thus? or was it a memory 
of the Past. Flora was puzzled and asked herself this 
question, although she knew nothing of her sister’s 
history. But seeing Sabine’s emotion, and the dewy 
tenderness of her eyes, contrasting so strongly with her 
habitual expression, she said to herself. She has 
loved. She probably loves still.” 

As they left the wood tliey came out directly in front 
of the Chateau — which Mademoiselle Ydoine called the 
Castle — des Allais. In former times it had been quite 
magnificent, standing on a hill, with its ramparts and 
moat. Torn down during the Revolution, it had been 
rebuilt in 1830, in the soi disant Gothic style, then the 
fashion, and had become, with its plaster arches, its 
pretentious towers, and its niches filled with trouba- 
dours and chatelaines, something perfectly ridiculous. 
Flora, with instinctive good taste, was absolutely 
shocked, and uttered a cry of astonishment. “ Do you 
mean,” she asked, “ that this abomination, this misera- 
ble toy, is the Chateau des Allais ? ” 

Sabine nodded. 

“ But Monsieur des Allais seemed to be so proud 
of it ! ” 

“And why not?” said Sabine dryly. “It has been 
in the possession of his ancestors from time imme- 
morial.” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


93 


Then changing her tone, she added : 

‘‘ When there is a strong attachment, the question of 
ugliness or beauty, is of very little moment. Affection 
effaces the one and creates the other.” 

Again Flora looked at her with surprise. “ Could it 
be Jacques whom she loved ? ” she asked herself. She 
dared not question her sister, but the more she thought 
about it the more certain she felt that this supposition 
Avas correct. It seemed to her quite natural besides, 
since Jacques and Sabine had known each other all 
their lives. But why were they not married? 

An liahituee of the house, Sabine entered without 
ceremony. The eldest of the two sisters. Mademoiselle 
Ydoine, had established herself like a pigeon, in the 
very top of one of the towers that slenderly flanked 
the ornamented facade of the chateau. In her was 
vested the family authority, the respect which Jacques 
felt for this old relic amounted to veneration, and his 
sister, whose energetic and determined character did not 
promise ready obedience to any one, never dared take 
a single step without the consent of Mademoiselle 
Ydoine. Her seniority of years, was to these two — 
whose characters had been moulded to respect and 
submission — an indisputable authority. 

She herself, gentler, sweeter than her sister, accepted 
this tribute of deference with a certain humility. In 
this singular household, every one obeyed without a 
command being issued. 

Sabine showed her sister into an oval salon, the 


94 sabine’s falsehood. 

^ceiling of which was covered with gold stars. The 
daylight came through windows of stained glass, and 
lay on walls covered with paper representing a cheva- 
lier armed from head to foot, presenting a pink rose to 
a lady in blue. This same design was repeated over 
and over again, alternating with a troubadour playing 
a guitar. The furniture, carefully selected, reproduced 
in all their awkwardness the awkward forms, and pre- 
tentious errors of the end of the Restoration. 

In the corner of the chimney, seated in an arm chair 
with a high emblazoned back, and separated by a screen 
from the rest of the room. Flora saw a tiny old lady, 
slender and pale, whom she knew must of course be the 
eldest of the demoiselles des Allais. Long curls which 
had once been blonde and sunny, framed her faded 
face, and a cap loaded with flowers, covered her head. 

She welcomed the young girl with an attempt at 
dignity, but with real kindliness. Her voice was like 
the cooing of a turtle dove. She made Flora come up 
to the fire. 

“It is so damp,” she said, with a little affected 
shiver. “Are your feet petite? You look like 
your poor mother, I am going to give you a cup of 
my hyssop tea. When you were a child though, jon 
liked my orange flower lozenges best. I remember 
that well.” 

On a carved table close at her side was an open 
blank book. 

“ You see, my dear,” she said to Sabine, “ I still 


sabine’s falsehood. 


95 


charm my solitude by intercourse with the Muses ! ” 
Then addressing Flora : 

“ Have you ever tried to inscribe your impressions 
in the language of Parnassus ? ” 

I have had difficulty enough in expressing them 
correctly in French,” answered the girl michievously. 

“ I hate prose,” said Mademoiselle Ydoine curtly. “ I 
endeavor to poetise the smallest incidents of life, and I 
like to confide my impressions to paper. Very often 
they amount to nothing — half a dozen lines, even less. 
Lamartine did the same, you remember. Jacques is 
determined that I shall publish them, some day. Once 
in a while, too, I compose a little melody. Last even- 
ing I found an air for these verses, which bear my 
name : 

‘‘Fair Ydoine sits under the olive tree.’’ 

The door opened. 

“Ah! here comes Jacques I My dear brother, 
when you have paid your respects to these ladies, you 
must go for your flute, that they may hear this air that 
I composed last night for “Fair Ydoine.” You 
thought it very simple I know, but you liked it, 
especially the refrain.” 

And she began to sing in a frail, quavering voice. 

“ I am quite sure,” she said, interrupting herself, 
“ that Flora would like to hear you. He plays charm- 
ingly on the flute, but he is too modest b}^ far. He 
can write good sonnets too. He will address one to 
you, my dear, I am certain. Ah! here is Florimonde. 


96 


SABINE'S FALSEHOOD. 


Have you changed your boots, my love ? It is so very 
damp to-day! I have felt it keenly, and without my 
verbena water, I don’t know how I could have borne 
it.” 

The old lady’s words continued to drop one on 
another, with the monotony of a tiny thread of water 
escaping from an imperfectly closed faucet. Flora was 
not listening, and Jacques, with his large pale eyes fixed 
upon her, was absorbed in a dream. Sabine and Fiori- 
monde had started off on one of their skirmishes. 

Flora said to herself, I never met three such dull 
and ridiculous persons in all my life ! ” 

And then, looking from one to the other, she thought 
she understood why Sabine had never married. When 
she was again in the pine grove, she breathed a long 
sigh of relief. 

Sabine was silent — things were not moving as she 
desired. She divined the impression made on the 
young girl by this visit. 

Sabine, are all our neighbors like these ? ” said 
Flora at last, after a long silence. 

‘‘All our neighbors! Do you think there are any 
others? With the exception of two or three noble 
families at Saint Ronauld, with whom my father 
quarreled long ago, and the officials, the Prefect, Com- 
mandant, and so on, whom he does not choose to know, 
we are surrounded only by farmers.” 

“Then with the exception of my god-mother and 
her dead partridges, Mademoiselle Ydoine and her 


sabixe’s falsehood. 97 

poetry — Jacques and his flute and snails, we must live 
always alone ? ” 

And Flora sighed deeply. 

‘"How do you think I live? ’’asked Sabine, some- 
what harshly. She drew herself away from the arm 
that Flora put around her. 

“ Listen to me,” she said, “ I am not given to many 
words. I do not express my feelings very readily. If 
you cannot divine the depths of my love for you, so 
much the worse. It is none the less real for that. 
One thing you may be sure of, which is that you will 
not find much amusement here. I have not time to be 
much with you, and it will be far less gay than the 
Convent. But you may be quite certain that in bring- 
ing you here I thought only of your happiness. I see 
as clearly as yourself how ridiculous these people are. 
Try to close your eyes to this — never allow yourself 
to make any remarks about them, and I venture to 
promise that you will soon be very happy among us.” 

Flora shook her head, but at the same time deter- 
mined to do her best, to become accustomed to the 
idea of having Jacques des Allais some day for her 
brother-in-law. 

6 


98 


SABIN e’s falsehood. 


CHAPTER VII, 


FEMININE MANAGEMENT 



ACQUES DES ALLAIS leaned against the trunk 


V of a tree, his hands in his pockets, and his nose in 
the air. For more than an hour he had been watching 
the little blue tom-tits with their feathers ruffled up 
with cold, huddled together on the branches white 
with frost. The fields lay under their covering of 
snow, and were spotted here and there by flocks of 
crows. The water in the little lake was imprisoned in 
deep ice, and the sun that shone in ,the pale blue sky, 
seemed to illuminate without warming the scene. Far 
beyond the leafless beeches, far beyond these pines, 
whose dark green branches were weighed down by 
snow — beyond that white path on which two slender 
feet had left their imprint, was his imagination wan- 
dering. Like Sabine, but for very different reasons, 
Jacques had known no youth. Responsibilities too 
early placed upon her, added to a character ener- 
getic and determined by Nature — had transformed her 
at once from a child to a woman; with him on the 
contrary, childhood had been prolonged beyond the 
limits of youth, almost to middle age. 

His education had been entrusted entirely to his old 
aunts, who with the self-abnegation of another age 


sabine’s falsehood. 99 


than ours, had never married, in order not to diminish 
their brother’s patrimony. All the affection of these 
two hearts was concentrated on this child. 

This feminine management, with its contradictions 
and its cautious prudence, had produced its inevitable 
results. Decided religious faith went side by side with 
puerile superstitions, exquisite delicacy of sentiments 
with the prudishness of a school girl, and above all, 
with the most complete ignorance of the austere reali- 
ties of life. His father, whose rule was as absolute as 
that of a chief in old feudal times, had never initiated 
him into the details of his affairs, and managed all 
himself. Jacques was imbued with such respect for 
his father’s authority, that he never dreamed of 
absenting himself from home even for a day, without 
permission. 

The amount of money placed at his disposal was so 
small that most school boys would have scorned it, and 
yet he never asked for more. When Monsieur d’Allais 
died, Jacques found himself suddenly the head of his 
family, and master of a fine fortune, proprietor of large 
estates, a man, in short, without ever having been a 
youth. He was then thirty. He hurried to his aunt 
Ydoine and implored her assistance, begging her to look 
out for his affairs, of which he understood absolutely 
nothing. The old lady was even more ignorant than 
himself, and he was sent to Florimonde, who was clear 
headed and more practical. She consented to see the 
farmers and the lawyers on condition that each one of 


100 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


her acts should be revised by this singular family 
council. 

Jacques agreed, and thought no more of business, 
he basked in the sunshine of this double maternal 
solicitude of which he was the object — living with his 
dreams, and accepting from day to day the facile life 
offered him. 

In short, he had been perfectly happy until the day 
when he met Flora. His dreams had been sufficient unto 
him. His aunts had more than once timidly suggested 
the idea of his marrying, reminding him that he had 
no right to allow the name he bore to die out. 

There is plenty of time,” said Jacques, whose 
heart was still a blank page. 

The good old ladies did not insist, for in their hearts 
they dreaded introducing a stranger into their peaceful 
homes. The only person whom they would have wel- 
comed — for Sabine, as they well knew, was out of the 
question — was Flora — a child still, to be sure, but 
she would grow up, her god-mother could fashion her 
after her own ideas, and of course she could not fail to 
love and admire their Jacques ! 

They were charmed with this project. Jacques was 
not kept in ignorance, and his confusion therefore was 
all the greater when he found himself for the first 
time in the presence of this young girl, who might one 
day be his wife, and the mother of his children. 

Jacques colored at this thought, for it seemed to 
him that Flora was so divinely pure, that even his love 
would be profanation. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


101 


All the chimeras he had forged, were shivered into 
atoms at her approach. All these figures he had seen 
in his empty dreams fled like shadows before the com- 
ing of the dawn. Love was the first reality he had 
encountered. A sentiment warm as the blood that ran 
in his veins — ardent as the aspirations of his soul — 
took possession of him and never again left him. 

From the moment that Flora appeared before him, in 
all her poetic beauty — with all the delicate grace of 
girlhood — his heart went out to meet her. She was 
the incarnation of his dreams — his very ideal. He 
did not trouble himself to ask if she would love him. 
He was awkward and ugly, absent-minded and careless, 
ignorant of the world and its usages. He knew all this. 
She, with that intimacy that grows up so rapidly in the 
country, had often reproached him gently with his 
heedlessness and with the uselessness of his occupations. 
They met almost daily, and all he lived for, was to see 
her; 

She, not in the least suspecting the adoration of 
which she was the object, adopted the manner of an 
elder sister toward him — scolding him, and telling 
him many plain truths. Then seeing his piteous 
expression, and fearing that she had hurt him, she 
reproached herself for her frankness. Her compas- 
sion for this person whom she, without well knowing 
why, looked upon as a sick child, induced her to 
speak to him in a voice, whose tender tones wrapped 
him in happiness. 


102 


SABINE'S FALSEHOOD. 


To be near her, to be able to look at her in silence, 
to hear her speak, to follow her in her walks like a 
faithful dog, to place in her hand each day the flowers 
that she would wear in her cormge^ and that he would 
gather up and treasure as a precious relic when she had 
thrown them away as something that had lost all their 
beauty — this sufficed him; he asked for nothing more. 
He never dreamed of speaking to her of his love, and, 
indeed, said to himself that he should never have the 
courage to do so. 

He knew this day, that she was coming. She had 
accepted his timid proposition, that he should lend her 
some books, and Jacques, transported with joy, had 
actually had the audacity to underline a passage in one 
of these books, which Flora, he thought, could not fail 
to understand. He knew that she was now bringing 
this volume to him. When he saw, afar off, her blonde 
hair under a fur toque^ the poor lover trembled from 
head to foot, and would gladly have taken to his heels. 

What should he say to excuse himself, and how on 
earth should he look her in the face ? He was ashamed 
of himself, but nevertheless he hid behind a large holly 
bush. When she was close upon him and was passing 
without seeing him, he grew bolder, and without 
leaving his ambuscade, extended his daily offering, 
which was, on that occasion, a bunch of Parma violets 
which he had grown especially for her. 

Her first movement was one of terror. 

“ Oh? it is you ! ” she exclaimed. ‘‘ You frightened 
me!’’ 


sabine’s falsehood. 103 

« Frightened you ? ” he repeated ; ‘‘ that was the first 
feeling you had toward me, when you were little, do 
you remember? ” 

He spoke rapidly, hardly knowing what he stiid, 

“I am very unfortunate,” he continued, ‘‘if I can 
not succeed in awakening any other feeling.” 

Flora smiled. 

“ Ah ! ” she said, “ I am more courageous now, I 
fancy, than I was then. Have I not come all this way 
alone? I am afraid of nothing nowadays, Jacques, and 
I do feel the greatest liking in the world for you, and 
am very grateful for this little bouquet and this big 
book.” 

“You have read it? ” Jacques asked quickly. 

“From beginning to end, with the greatest interest.” 

Jacques was petrified, and then a terrible pang shot 
through his heart. She had read it, and yet, had not 
understood. 

“ And I want another,” she continued, in the most 
natural tone. 

“ Come in then, and get it,” said Jacques, at his wits’ 
end, and despairing. 

He walked on in silence at her side. What was 
there now for him to say ? 

They crossed the preposterous drawbridge, that gave 
access to the Chateau, and entered one of the inner 
courts. Passing before an open door, they heard a 
great noise. Jacques hesitated. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Flora. 


104 


S A bine’s falsehood. 


“ It is — ” He stopped. “ It is — ” 

Then with sudden determination, he threw the door 
wide open. In the centre of a square-flagged court- 
yard, Flora saw her god-mother, whose semi-masculine 
costume was rendered more than ever grotesque, by the 
contest in which she was engaged, with the assistance 
of a bunch of leather thongs, which she flourished 
energeticall3^ She was trying to drive an enormous 
hog back to his enclosure. The creature^ squealed, 
grunted and struggled, while Mademoiselle Florimonde 
cut him right and left, and ran after him as he turned. 
She was red with anger and with cold, Avhile the tram- 
pled snow attested the vigor and the length of the 
engagement. Without an instant’s hesitation, Jacques 
rushed into the meleS^ seized the delinquent by foot, 
tail, or ear, and hustled him into his domicile. 

Florimonde disappeared, without having seen her 
god-daughter. When the piteous squeals were some- 
what calmed. Flora saw Jacques reappear, his beard in 
disorder, his cravat untied, his felt hat — the same one 
that had sheltered the snails — thrown back on his 
head in such a way that Flora laughed aloud. Jacques 
fixed his eyes on her so sadly, that she checked herself 
hastily, reading in them a reproach by which she was 
profoundly touched. 

“ You laugh,” he said in a low voice. ‘‘ I know that 
I am ridiculous in your eyes. This is the sentiment 
that has succeeded the fear of your childhood, arid you 
will never understand — you will never see. — Never 
mind ! It is useless. I am very unhapp3^” 


sabike’s falsehood. 


105 


He hurried toward the Chateau. Flora silently 
followed him. He seemed to have forgotten her 
presence. When he reached the hall, he opened a 
door that Flora had always seen closed. 

“ This is my room,” he said. “ There are my books. 
Take what you will ! ” 

Taking no further notice of her, he went to the 
chimney-piece, placed both arms upon it, and his head 
on his arms. 

Flora hesitated on the threshold. Jacques was plain, 
unattractive and awkward, but he was a young man 
still, and unmarried. He had said many a word to her 
that had set her dreaming. Then, too. Flora was but 
seventeen. She had just left her convent, and was 
now, for the first time in her life, alone with a man. 
She looked timidly around. This room was like noth- 
ing she had ever seen before. It was the retreat of a 
poet, but of one who dreams the verses which other men 
write. Fragments of tapestry, and some ancient armor 
saved from the ruins of the old Chateau, hung upon the 
wall. Quaint pieces of furniture, picked up among 
the peasantry, and the debris of mutilated sculpture, 
were piled in picturesque disorder. Flowers, fading in 
the warmth of the room, stood in faience and crystal 
vases on all the tables, while growing plants made 
veritable thickets at the windows, and filled the room 
with perfume. Scattered everywhere, were fishing- 
rods, bird’s nests, strange lichens, and pearly shells. 
Birds warbled in rustic cages, while before the hearth, 


106 sabine’s falsehood, 

on a Persian rug, a cat white as snow, was curled up 
between the paws of a great setter, and everywhere lay 
books piled up any way, and leaning toward each other 
as if to whisper their secrets. 

Flora still hesitated. She had wounded him then, 
profoundly ! He was motionless, silent and insensible 
to her presence. Pity triumphed over her embar- 
rassment. Slowly and softly she went up to him, and 
as he did not move, she at last laid her hand gently on 
his arm, and in a voice which was in itself a caress, she 
said: 

“ Jacques ! Dear Jacques ! ’ 

He started. 

“ Jacques, I have grieved you,” she continued; ‘Mvill 
you forgive me ? ” 

He did not lift his head ; but Flora saw a tear glisten 
between his fingers. 

“What is the matter, Jacques?” she continued. 
“ Are you so very unhappy ? Confide your grief to 
me, as if I were your own little sister.” 

Then in a lower voice, as if coaxing a child : 

“Have I wounded you so deeply? ^Tell me in what 
way, and I will never do it again. I can not always 
keep from laughing, but I never meant to grieve you I 
Tell me that you are not angry with me, Jacques — 
that you love me a little.” 

“ A little ! Oh, Flora, are you blind ? ” 

And lifting his agitated face, he went on. His 
great love swept like a tornado over his whole being, 


sabine’s falsehood. 


107 


carrying away his timid itj^ his reserve and his resolu- 
tion : 

“ I love you, child ! I love you with my whole soul,” 
he stammered. ‘‘ You can do with me whatever you 
please — make of me your slave, tread me under your 
feet, laugh at me as at a clown — but you can never 
tear from my heart this love, which has become a part 
of myself. Yes, tears are in my eyes. Do you know 
why ? I have seemed to you ridiculous and grotesque, 
and you laughed at me, but that is not the cause of 
my despair. To that book, which you read without 
understanding, I had entrusted the mission of telling 
you a part of the truth. I was in a fever all the time 
it was in your possession. I said to myself, she will 
guess — she cannot fail to understand why I gave this 
volume and not another to her — why I underlined one 
passage with a trembling hand, but you failed to under- 
stand ! You are, therefore, indifferent to me ! ” 

She sought to interrupt him. 

‘‘No, let me speak! ” he said. “I shall never have 
the courage again. If you only knew what I had 
dared dream. iAy heart is like this wintry landscape, 
which sleeps under its icy winding sheet. You passed 
by like a breath of spring, and I sprang to life ! All 
that I have hitherto loved, is condensed in you. 
Warm April winds, tossing with full hands blossoms 
on all the hedge-rows, fastening fragrant stars on drj^ and 
withered vines — causing violets and lilies of the valley 
to blossom in the sheltered corners — the song of birds, 
perfumes and harmonies, all come to me with you. 


108 


sabijte’s falsehood. 


And I, Flora, I have dared to think that you might be 
mine! Do not turn away. It is madness, but not 
guilt ! I do not even ask for pity from you — I know 
very well that I am useless — ridiculous. I don’t ask 
you to love me, but I implore you not to blind your- 
self to the truth — that I live only for you ! ” 

Flora listened, hesitating and fascinated. These 
words sounded in her ears like distant music. But 
this was only the mirage of the passion she was one 
day to experience. Jacques taught her the existence 
of love, without teaching her to feel it. 

Seeing that she listened, Jacques took heart: 

Flora,” he murmured, ‘‘ must I despair ? ” 

She stammered : 

‘‘I do not know. It is all so new — so strange to 
me.” 

And then suddenly replying to that voice within 
herself, which trembled more than that of Jacques, she 
cried : 

“ Oh I how happy you are I Why do you com- 
plain? Is it not good to love thus — to find one’s 
happiness in another — to forget all else, to live only in 
his life I This must be very sweet. Dear friend, if 
you knew how gladly I would put my hand in yours, 
and say : ‘ Here I am, lull me with your words and 
make me part of your happiness;’ but I cannot — I 
cannot I Later, perhaps.” 

‘‘ Ah I do not give me this hope I You do not love 
me — you will never love me ! ” 

“ Perhaps ! ” answered the young girl, gravely. 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


109 


“ Listen to me, Jacques. It never occurred to me, that 
I could inspire you with any other feeling than friend- 
ship. You must give me time to accustom mj'self to 
being loved after a different fashion — to interrogate my 
own heart. Leave me free. If ever I come to you and 
say, ‘Jacques, I have reflected — I am ready to become 
your wife’ — you will understand that it is the avowal 
of a sentiment like that which you have just expressed 
to me.” 

“ Ah ! if that day should ever come, I think I should 
go mad with joy ! ” 

Flora looked at him sadly. Her heart was stirred 
in spite of herself. What absolute felicity it was in 
her power to bestow upon him. 

“ I always imagined, but I do not know why, that 
you loved Sabine,” she said gently. 

“ Sabine ? I never thought of her.” 

“ And that she loved you. I looked upon you, in 
fact, as my future brother-in-law, and — ” She hesita- 
ted, suddenly seeing that she could not tell him how 
disagreeable even this idea was to her. How, then, 
could she ever consent to share his life — to become 
half of himself? 

Her imagination promptly drew a vivid picture of 
what her life would be in this Chateau, where nothing 
would break the monotony of her narrow existence — 
where she would be alternately subjected to the teasing 
of her god-mother — to the annoying attentions of 
Mademoiselle Ydoine, and to the vague, unpractical 
adoration of Jacques. She thought of those long, winter 


110 


sabine’s falsehood. 


evenings, when she would be compelled to listen to the 
imaginary ailments of the old lady, and to the reci- 
tation of her verses, and then to an air on the flute — 
the Curb’s visit and a game of cards, her ohly 
distraction. 

She shivered. Better, a thousand times, to pass her 
life at La Rulli^re, between her father’s slights and re- 
buffs and the reticent affection of Sabine, and grow old 
there like her sister, and preserve some of her illusions. 

‘‘ I ought to go,” she said. ‘‘ I did wrong in follow- 
ing you here ; but I did not know — ” 

No, you can do no wrong, Flora. Besides, you have 
given me a ray of hope, that has changed all my life. 
Oh, Flora ! what would become of me, were you to 
make me happy some day, when the faint hope you 
have given me has fairly intoxicated me ? ” 

She went away without giving him her hand — with- 
out even looking around. She was in haste to be away 
from him — to put the greatest possible distance 
between herself and those eyes, whose passionate ten- 
derness had been more eloquent than she desired. 

A contest was going on within herself, between her 
young heart, moved by the love offered to her, and her 
reason, which said to her : 

“ The bliss you dream of will never be yours, if you 
yield to this love. You will give happiness, but receive 
none.” 

But Flora answered : 

“ Is not this reasoning very selfish ? and is not real 
happiness that which we give to others ? ” 


sabine’s falsehood. Ill 

Absent minded and disturbed, she took her way 
home. Her father’s voice suddenly aroused her from 
her reverie. He was in a terrible temper. The snow 
had broken down some of his espaliers^ and as there 
was no one whom he\ could blame for the disaster, he 
sought a victim upon whom he could wreak his ill 
humor. 

‘‘Where on earth have you been?” he shouted to his 
daughter, as far off as he could see her. 

“ To Les Allais,” she answered with some hesitation, 
for she foresaw a storm. 

“ You had much better stay at home, then I I don’t 
choose you to be running there, until that imbecile 
makes up his mind to open his mouth. Do you hear? 
I absolutely forbid you going about the country alone ! 
If Sabine does not know how to take better care of 
you than this, she had better have left you in the 
convent. I wonder how long things are to hang by 
the eyelids in this way ! I see just what is before me — 
two old-maid daughters to cheer my declining years I 
To this I do not propose to submit. Jacques is an 
idiot, whom you can lead by the end of the nose, and 
you will obey me — do you hear ? ” 

He walked off after these pleasing words, leaving 
her glued to the ground, pale and trembling like a leaf. 

So then, her father meant her to marry, whether she 
would or no. She not only would be compelled to 
struggle against Jacques’ love, but also against the iron 
will of this father, who inspired her with absolute 
terror. She knew herself well enough to be certain 


112 sabine’s falsehood. 

that she could not long hold out against exterior influ- 
ences. Had she not hesitated for a moment, under the 
emotion of pity with which Jacques had inspired her? 
And if she yielded, what would happen? Would it 
not end in her resigning herself to her fate, and settling 
down into a stony indifference — losing her illusions, 
one by one ? 

But another possibility, still more terrible, presented 
itself to her mind. What if she should ever meet some 
one whose presence would quicken the pulsations of 
her heart, and cause her to feel that sentiment which 
now transported Jacques ? Married — tied for life to the 
man who had not been able to teach her to love him — 
what would become of her on that day when he, 
whose coming she so clearly foresaw, should appear 
before her? 

‘‘ And I wish to be happy ! I wish to love as Jacques 
loves, even if I die of it ! ” she cried impatiently, as 
she ran over the snow that creaked under her impa- 
tient feet. ‘‘ I will not marry because I am told to do 
so. I will marry the man I love, or like Sabine, I will 
not marry at all. I will grow old alone, but I shall, at 
all events, bear my dear illusions to the grave with me ! ” 

Sabine! Was not Sabine her second mother? She 
would go and find her and make her the arbiter of her 
destiny. And if Sabine loved Jacques, without being 
loved by him — as Flora more than half suspected — 
ail the more reason for placing her fate in her hands. 
She would know at once how to save her from this 
marriage, and protect her from her own weakness. 


sabiij^e’s falsehood. 


113 


Sabine was at her desk, adding up interminable 
columns of figures. Flora’s entrance did not even 
induce her to lift her eyes, and she did not drop her 
pen until her young sister’s fair head was laid on her 
shoulder. 

‘‘ What is the matter ? ” she asked hastily. ‘‘ I am 
in the greatest haste. My father wants this account, 
and he is in no humor to wait for anything to-day. If 
you have anything to say, make haste.” 

Flora started up as abruptly as if a thorn had 
wounded her. 

“ Excuse me,” she said ; “I am sorry that I disturbed 
you. I hoped to have found aid and sympathy with 
you ; but I was mistaken.” 

She turned to leave the room, but hesitated. 

‘‘Sabine,” she said, “let me ask one question — only 
one — and answer me honestly. Have you ever 
loved?” 

Over Sabine’s face, passed a wonderful change. A 
bright color swiftly ruslied to her face, a sombre fire 
glittered in her eyes, her lips trembled. She was 
evidently deeply agitated. 

“ Why do you ask me this? Yes, I have loved — 
loved as you will never love — you, who are tender and 
sentimental ! ” 

• “ And you love still ? ” 

“ Love never dies. When it changes, it has never 
existed.” 

“And you are happy? Happy in loving as you have 

7 


114 


SABINE'S FALSEHOOD. 


done, are you not? Even if you have nothing to 
expect from this love — even if he who inspired it, can 
never be united to you on this earth — even if he shares 
not your sentiment — even if he loves another? The 
happiness of loving suffices, does it not ? Sabine, tell 
me, is this enough ? ” 

Sabine, surprised by this excitement, of the cause of 
which she was in ignorance, trembled and struggled 
with her emotion. 

“ Pray let us say no more,” she answered. ‘‘ It was 
for this, I presume, that you came here now? ” 

‘‘ Listen a moment, Sabine. I know nothing of the 
history of your life. I am in ignorance of the secret 
of your heart. But what matter these details of your 
love — that is all I wish to know. Ah, well! if in 
place of this love, which fills all your soul. Fate had 
imposed on you, in your ignorance, an indissoluble tie, 
and had chained your life to another — to one whom 
you could regard only with indifference — if you had 
been told that you must never cherish a feeling for any 
other person, and that it would be a crime to even 
think of any other, what would you have done ? ” 

Sabine answered promptly : 

I would have submitted to the will of God, and I 
should have done my duty.” 

Flora, with eyes dilated in terror, and hands, pressed 
to her heaving breast, murmured : 

I, too, will submit ! I will obey ; but it will kill 
me. Yes, it will kill me I ” 


SABINES FALSEHOOD 


115 


CHAPTER VIIL 


THE KETUKN OF THE WANDEBER. 
HEN Monsieur de La Rulliere came to his eldest 



f T daughter, and scolded her sharply for having 
neglected his interest, in not making more exertion to 
carry out the plan which should bring Les Allais some- 
wliat under his control, and added that he had taken 
the matter now in his own hands, and had given Flora 
to understand that he must be obeyed, Sabine compre- 
hended the agitation of her little sister. She felt a pang 
of self-reproach that she had not received her confidence 
with more warmth, and told herself that she should 
have shown more interest and sympathy. 

But these ideas always came too late to Sabine. Her 
first impulse never led her to show any enthusiasm, and 
her tenderness and affection were therefore always 
destined to be misjudged. She had an instinctive 
aversion to all exaggeration of feeling. She hated 
scenes, and adopted a certain reserve toward Flora, 
who, she took it into her head, was inclined to senti- 
mentalism. 

She had always felt in herself, strength to look ad- 
versity full in the face, and to stand firm against the 
rudest blows of misfortune, and was reluctant to admit 
that her sister was childish enough to shrink from any 


116 


sabine’s falsehood. 


suffering that was necessary. Flora’s tender soul, which 
felt the woes of others as deeply as her own, was a 
sealed book to her sterner sister, who considered her a 
trifle silly and very romantic. The last was true, 
unfortunately, and Sabine blamed her as if she were 
guilty of some great fault. 

She accused Flora of injustice toward Jacques, at 
the same time admitting that the manner in which 
Flora had been educated — so differently from herself — 
would naturally make her extremely fastidious on 
certain points to which she herself was indifferent. At 
the same time she felt that Time was her best assistant. 
With difficulty, she obtained from her father the 
promise that he would interfere no further, and set 
herself to bring everything to bear on this plan upon 
which she had now set her whole soul. 

Sabine loved her sister, but she did not understand 
her. She would have given her very life for her 
without the smallest hesitation, but she was utterly 
incapable of lavishing on this girl those caresses which 
to certain young creatures are as necessary as the air 
they breathe. When Flora, troubled and anxious, 
feeling that vague weight which in a young girl is, 
perhaps, the presentiment of the sorrows of a woman, 
fell into that continuous weeping which has neither 
cause nor effect, and which a mother would have soothed 
with kisses, Sabine shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 
The child withdrew into herself, so that the inevitable 
result was not long in coming, and Flora ceased to 


sabine’s falsehood. 


117 


count on her sister’s affection, and felt herself put 
away from her. 

She shrank from any contest with her father’s 
authority, and was filled with thankfulness that he did 
not again mention Jacques. She divined Sabine’s 
interference, and was thus still more confirmed in her 
idea that her sister had formed an attachment for her 
old friend. 

The conviction that daily strengthened within her, 
that Sabine loved Jacques and had not been able to 
awaken a corresponding love in him, determined her 
not to yield to that pity with which he inspired her. 

By degrees, she acquired a habit of living an 
isolated existence, passing her time Avandering about 
the fields, or absorbed in the books which Jacques sent 
her. She lived in a state of perpetual nervous excite- 
ment, and her frail constitution became frailer still. 

The rosy blossoms of Spring had fallen on the grass 
in the orchards ; the fruit trees were clothed in their 
green toilette of mid-summer — serious and practical 
enough after the sheen and whiteness of their marriage 
robes — they were busy now in bringing up their 
numerous family about them. Cherries were red, 
peaches were assuming a faint color on one side, and 
the pears were already well advanced. 

Flocks of greedy sparrows fluttered around the 
trees surveying them with eager eyes, and wondering 
if the hour for their pillage would never arrive. 

“ A few days more ! ” said the mothers and fathers. 


118 


SABINE S FALSEHOOD. 


Have a little patience ! The feast will soon be 
ready. We know how to .avoid the snares Monsieur 
de la Rulliere has spread for us. And this straw-man 
in one of his old coats frightens us no more than is 
good for our digestion ! ” 

And the busy little swarm chattered and laughed in. 
merry derision. 

Poor Monsieur de la Rulliere ! how many creatures 
on his estate were busy only in defying and rendering 
useless all his cares and precautions ! The moles 
undermined his strawberry beds, the field mice took up 
tlieir summer quarters on his wheat, then just high 
enough to shelter them comfortably, waiting for the 
tender grains to form, and give them succulent nour- 
ishment. Even the flowers conspired to provoke him, 
lifting their saucy heads in his best-cared-for meadows. 
Poppies blazed despite his wrath. Marguerites with 
golden hearts, and bluets, grew there especially to 
irritate him. 

Flora was never weary of admiring these beauties of 
Nature, all so new to one whose youth had slipped away 
within the high walls of a convent. She enjoyed with 
eagerness each one of those sweet and tender things, 
which only dreamers can discover in the woods and 
fields. The greater part of her day was spent with a 
book in her hand, watching the capricious flight of the 
bees around the flowers, their feet and wings powdered 
with golden dust, or the fields of flax waving in the 
wind, their flowers as wide open and as bright as the 
blue eyes of an astonished child. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


119 


Jacques could never see these blossoms without a 
thrill, so vividly did they remind him of Flora’s frank 
glances. He did not dare tell her so however. Pie 
rarely, in fact, spoke to her in these days, and followed 
her only at a distance — happy when he saw her 
absorbed in her dreams from which he was ever to be 
excluded, he wdio lived only for her. 

The June sun brought out the roses. These were 
the favorite flowers of Jacques des Allais, and for this 
weakness his pitiless neighbor. Flora’s father, vehe- 
mently reproached him. Monsieur de la Rulliere was 
tempted to send away from his gates the fragrant 
baskets which Jacques, prodigal of his treasures, sent 
each morning to his hien-eimSe, But he contented 
himself by making the pleasing observation to his 
daughter that he tolerated these useless weeds in the 
house, drawing flies as they did, only because he 
regarded them as the first advances of his future 
son-in-law. 

He had only consented, he said in conclusion, to 
withdraw her from her convent in the hope of seeing her 
the mistress of Les Allais. Such a marriage would be a 
very good thing for him, and he hoped she would hasten 
matters along, by using all those arts so familiar to 
women. If he had not been on bad terms with the 
two old ladies for some time, he would have gone to 
them in person, and made his offer with its conditions. 

Literally stunned by this verbal frankness. Flora had 
not one word to say in reply, and went away blinded 
by tears. 


120 


sabine’s falsehood. 


She cared not where she went, and was standing on 
the bank of the river, among the wild iris and scarlet 
cardinal flowers, when suddenly, not ten feet away, she 
beheld Jacques lying at full length, his chin on his 
clasped hands, and his eyes fixed on the fast flowing 
water. The bait from his line had been long before 
carried off by a gluttonous fish. 

Flora looked at Jacques for some time. He, at this 
moment, was a perfect picture of sleepy indolence. 

‘‘And this is the being with whom I am expected 
to pass my life ! ” 

Suddenly Conscience, that pitiless friend who utters 
so many hard truths, whispered : 

“ But you. Are you not quite as indolent as he ? ” 

“Yes,” said Flora; “but for that very reason I 
ought to marry a man whose energy might arouse me, 
whose will would be my law, and whom I should love 
so passionately that I should obey him blindly.” 

“ Are you not quite as useless as he ? ” continued the 
stern monitor. 

“Yes; and that is why I ought to have, like the 
useless ivy, a strong branch on which to cling. I need 
one of those mighty trees whose branches overshadow 
the world. I wish to look up among the stars in my 
love, and not down on the turf among the flowers.” 

She passed home quietly, and pursued her dreams, as 
she moved along the bank of the river. She finally 
crossed a field, at the end of which was a high fence, 
through which she saw a number of cows grazing 


sabine’s falsehood. 


121 


quietly in the green meadow, teeming with buttercups. 
Humiliating as is the confession, we are forced to 
admit, that our little Flora was in deadly terror of 
cows. She dared not go on. Nor did she dare, lest 
she should awaken Jacques’ attention, to retrace her 
steps, and concluded that she would wait a while. 
Some one would certainly pass ere long, and when 
that some one was with her, she would not be so 
much afraid of the cows. 

She seated herself in the shade near the fence. The 
branches of a wild rose-bush, heavy with blossoms, 
bent over her head. She broke off a long branch, and 
twisted it around her straw hat. The cows crunclied 
the rich grass, the bees buzzed about her, and a lark 
flew straight up to the sun from the field of wheat, 
singing his heart out as he went. 

Suddenly, she heard a step. A shadow fell across 
the turf. Flora rose slowly without looking up, and 
shook off the pink petals on her dress, then she turned 
toward the new comer, whom she supposed to be some 
peasant, or a maid from the farm. To her infinite 
surprise she beheld a stranger, tall and distinguished 
looking, who held his hat in his hand while he 
examined her face earnestly, but respectfully. Sud- 
denly he extended his hand. 

‘‘ Shall I call you Mademoiselle, or only Flora, as in 
former days ! ” he asked, with a smile. 

Flora examined him in her turn, before she replied. 

He was still young, although his sunburnt skin. 


122 


SABINE'S FALSEHOOD. 


strongly marked features, and the deep lines on his 
brow made him look much older than he really was. 
His whole person bore the imprint of unusual energy, 
and in his countenance there was that fixity of expres- 
sion, which always indicates habits of thought and self- 
possession. Under his steady eyes, falsehood would 
have been impossible, and while he looked down into 
hers, the young girl asked herself, if this stranger read 
her poor little heart, already, like an open book. 

“ I await my answer ! ” he said presently, a certain 
tenderness in his voice. “ And you do not remember 
me ? And yet my first visit in Paris was to the 
convent, where I hoped to find you, for you are but 
seventeen — ” 

“ — And three months.” 

He smiled. 

“ And three months, Yes, to be sure, at your age, 
even three months are of importance. It is just ten 
years since we parted, and yet you see, I recognized 
you at once. Will you not welcome me, little Flora? 
Have you entirely forgotten the evening at your aunt’s 
in Paris, when you had so much difficulty in keeping 
awake, and an individual who talked as little as your- 
self, and who sometimes put your head on his shoulder 
when no one was looking, in order that you might 
steal a comfortable little nap? ” 

Flora’s eyes opened wide with surprise. 

Monsieur de Bargemont! ” she cried, “ but you are 
not in the least like him ! ” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


123 


“ Nevertheless, he has the honor of standing before 
you ! He has lived almost a lifetime, and he has 
wandered half over the globe since then. And now, 
as I have been fortunate enough to meet you, you will 
perhaps point out to me the road I must take to get to 
La Ilulliere.” 

Flora hesitated. 

“You must cross this field,” she said, “but” — she 
interrupted herself — “perhaps, though, you are not 
afraid of cows ? ” 

“ A cow is certainly a dangerous and ferocious beast, 
but I will endeavor to strengthen my courage by recall- 
ing past encounters with docile animals like panthers 
and jaguars.” 

“And you were not afraid?” asked the young girl, 
breathlessly. 

“ I think not, particularly as you see me sound and 
whole before you. May I make a confession ? In no 
situation have I ever been as much alarmed as I am at 
this very moment ! ” 

“Alarmed? And at what? If you do not mind the 
cows it must be I of whom you are afraid ! ” 

Roger looked at her gravely. “ Perhaps,” he said to 
himself, but his spoken words, were : 

“ I am alarmed when I think of presenting myself 
at the ChS,teau, where I am going.” 

“ Oh !” said Flora, “ it is not one of my father’s bad 
days, he has not scolded me but twice since this morn- 
ing, and you will not be treated as the Sub-Prefect 


124 


sabine’s falsehood. 


was yesterday, whom he kept two hours in the ante- 
room, where bags of flour were piled up, over which 
^a cross dog mounted guard ! Either through malice or 
mistake the key was turned on the poor man, who 
would be there still if Sabine had not released him ; 
though I fancy that he won’t come here very soon 
again ! ” 

Then your sister Sabine still lives with her father ? ” 
asked Roger, who had paid no great attention to what 
Flora was saying. “Is she married?” 

“Married! Bless me ! No, she is not married. I 
should pity the unhappy man who was fated to live at 
La Rulliere as my father’s son-in-law ! ” 

“ And why ? ” 

“ Because you, who know Sabine so well, know 
very well that good and lovable as she is, she is 
not especially gentle, or forbearing. She sometimes 
expresses herself so sharply, that I almost prefer to 
be scolded by papa, than by her.” 

A cloud passed over Roger’s face, and he moved 
restlessly under the fixed gaze of her clear gray eyes. 

“Poor child!” he murmured, “your life cannot be 
a very cheerful one in such a home I ” 

Flora turned scarlet. 

“Ah!” she cried, “how indiscreet — how strange 
you must think me I I can’t imagine what induced me 
to speak so openly of the petty annoyances of my life, 
to a person — to you, of whose very existence I was 
ignorant half an hour ago ! ” 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


125 


“ No, my child, I think you only very frank and very 
honest. Listen ! I do not believe in chance. I have 
escaped too many dangers, not to feel that a kind Provi- 
dence watches over us, and I think, that in placing 
you in my path just in time to show me what road to 
take, it was with the design that I should avoid 
another quicksand. When a man returns from the 
antipodes, and has not heard a word of his friends 
for ten years, he is only too glad to learn what they 
have been doing in his absence. Without this knowl- 
edge he might commit a thousand blunders, saying 
things unwittingly that wound deeply. You must tell 
me frankly all that has taken place among you since 
my departure. You are not speaking to a stranger, 
you must remember, but to an old friend on whose 
breast jour baby head has often reposed. I do not ask 
what you yourself have done in your convent, for I 
know perfectly well. But since then, what?” 

Since then I have never stirred from La Rulli^re, 
and fear I never shall ! ” 

She sighed profoundly. 

“ And your sister Sabine ? Do you know why she 
has never married ? ” 

“I do not know positively, but I suspect — ” 

She hesitated. 

‘‘ I wish you to speak frankly,” said Roger, in that 
imperious tone which accorded so well with the expres- 
sion of his face. ‘‘ I do not like reticence. Tell me 
not only what you know, but also what you suspect. 
Why has your sister never married ? ” 


126 


sabine’s falsehood. 


“I think she loves some one who does not return 
her affection,” stammered Flora. 

“And this some one — do you not know his name?” 

“ I have had no difficulty in guessing it, and look ! 
you can see him there, close down by the river under 
the willows.” 

Roger did not look, but said curtly : 

“ His name ? What is his name ? ” 

“ Jacques des Allais. But for Heaven’s sake, do not 
forget that I know nothing positively. Sabine is not 
very expansive, and has never taken me into her con- 
fidence, so it may be I am only talking wildly. I 
have no facts to go upon.” 

“But how do you know that he does not love her?” 

For the first time Flora felt that Monsieur Barge- 
mont w’as too curious, she determined to adopt a dig- 
nified silence — but he stopped short in the middle of 
the road and stood before her, as if determined that 
she should not take another step until she had replied 
to him. His calm, questioning gaze subjugated her 
entirely. Her head drooped, and she colored deeply. 

“ How do you know that he does not love her ? ” 
repeated Roger, calmly. 

“Because — because I know he loves some one else,” 
stammered Flora. 

“You, of course. Now I understand the situation, 
and shall trouble you with no further questions.” 

“And this,” thought Roger, “is the revelation which 
I have come all these miles to receive. On the thresh- 


sabine’s falsehood. 


127 


old of this house, where I hoped to bring and seek 
happiness — after ten years’ unremitting struggle with 
Fortune — I hear from the lips of this innocent child 
that the woman whom I had idealized in my absence — 
and for whom I had reserved all the tenderness of my 
heart, possibly from an exaggerated sense of honor, 
has become one of those sharp, sour old maids — the 
torment of all about h«er. And worse, even, that she 
has fallen madly in love with a country clodhopper 
who turns his back on her ! ” 

For a moment Roger was tempted to go back. He 
would return to Paris, and lead the gay, luxurious life 
which his large fortune made possible, and forget the 
existence of Sabine, who had so evidently forgotten 
his. 

Pie saw now, why she had never made any attempt 
to write to him. He had, to be sure, forbidden her 
doing so, but a woman who loved woidd have disre- 
garded such prohibitions. That he had not written to 
her was only natural, for to do so would have been to 
advance claims which he had relinquished. But she ! 
Had she not insisted on following him ? Had she not, 
in spite of all he had said, sworn eternal fidelity, thus 
forcing him to accept a promise which his heart did 
not ratify ? 

It is true he had been marvellously assisted by cir- 
cumstances, for he had been so absorbed in making 
money that few temptations had entered into his life ; 
but he was young, and more than once he had said to 


128 SABIN e’s falsehood. . 

himself that the faith he kept with such grim tenacity 
was not worth the facile happiness he might have won 
elsewhere. Once indeed, a wealthy American with 
whom he was associated in business, suggested to him 
that his daughter would make him an excellent wife — 
she was pretty and young, and his prospects would 
have been assured — but he refused. Now however, as 
he looked back at this incident, he almost wished he 
had accepted. 

As he walked silently on by Flora’s side, he ended 
by feeling a certain pity for himself. How ridiculous 
he would look presenting himself like a lover before 
this country bred woman, whose faults — he recalled 
them all now — had certainly strengthened with time. 
He would spare himself this ridicule, and her this an- 
noyance. He would make a mere visit of politeness, 
calling on her as on an old acquaintance, and would 
not utter one single syllable which could be construed 
into an allusion to the past. This of course would 
show her that he considered her and himself equally 
free. 

He assumed an air of indifference, and armed himself 
in advance against Sabine, without the smallest suspi- 
cion of the love he was to combat, and of the mistake 
under which he was laboring. 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


129 


CHAPTER IX. 

AFTER TEN YEARS. 

S ABINE was seated at her desk, looking like a judge 
examining a criminal, represented by her father’s 
miller, who standing before her, turned and twisted his 
flour-dusted cap between his large red hands. The 
conversation had been of long duration. There was 
some misunderstanding in the accounts. All had gone 
on swimmingly until Monsieur de la Rulliere coming 
in, had seen fit to interfere. From that moment a 
thousand difficulties had arisen. The peasant’s brain, 
at no time especially lucid, was now in a hopeless 
muddle. The most trifling mistakes always assumed 
gigantic proportions under the stern questionings of 
Monsieur de la Rulliere. 

Sabine herself began to lose her clear head, and real- 
izing this she ended by losing all patience. That day 
she had been overwhelmed with such multifarious 
occupations that she had not yet changed her morning 
dress. 

A peignoir of the heavy cloth of the country, some- 
what spotted, and cut by some unskilled seamstress, 
covered her from head to foot, failing in straight, 
ungraceful folds. 

There was ink on her fingers, and in the heat of the 

8 


130 SABIN e’s falsehood. 

discussion, she had pushed her heavy hair off her warm 
brow, thus deranging the symmetry of her coiffure. 
She was speaking with so much volubility that she did 
not even hear the door of the room open. 

Flora’s graceful head appeared in the aperture. 

‘^Papa ! ” she said timidly. 

Monsieur de la Rulliere turned toward her and 
struck the table Avith his list. 

^‘Haven’t I told you,” he bellowed — “haven’t I told 
you over and over again, that you were never to come 
here and interrupt us when we were making up our 
accounts? Go on, Firman — go on.” 

“I beg your pardon, papa,” said Flora, after waiting 
a moment. 

“Are you still there? Don’t you understand that 
you are never to come here on any possible pretext?” 

Flora was closing the door. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Sabine. “ What do you 
want?” 

“ Some one Avishes to see papa.” 

“ Let him wait ! ” cried Monsieur de la Rulliere. 

“ Who is it ? ” asked Sabine in an absent sort of Avay. 

“ Monsieur de Bargemont.” 

As if moved by a spring, Sabine rose stiff and 
straight upon her feet — the pen she held in her hand 
dropped upon the floor, but her indomitable Avill tri- 
umphed over these evidences of emotion. She stooped 
and picked up the pen, then re-seating herself she pulled 
the huge ledger nearer to her, so that Flora had not 
the smallest suspicion of her emotion. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


131 


“Very well! Very well! Let him wait until we 
have finished — it won’t be long,” said Monsieur de la 
Rulli^re, and turning towards his eldest daughter, he 
exclaimed : 

“Well! Sabine, where- were we? Thirty-six kilo- 
grams at eighty-five centimes ? ” 

“ Twenty-seven francs and twenty centimes,” 
answered Sabine promptly. 

And she had the courage to go over all her calcula- 
tions, and to sit still in her chair until the miller — all 
difficulties smoothed over, took his departure, and 
Monsieur de la RulliSre, forgetting the visitor whose 
name he had not even caught, went out after him. 

At last she was alone ! 

With one bound she was at the door, that door 
which separated her from her fiance. She forgot every- 
thing — the years that had elapsed since their last 
meeting, and which might have changed him so that 
she would hardly recognize him — she never thought 
of her careless costume, which would make her appear 
to so little advantage in Roger’s eyes. She simply said 
to herself, that her Roger was there, and that he, as in 
those olden days, would take her tenderly in his arms. 
Then again should she find happiness, peace, comfort 
and sympathy, love in short! 

^ And yet, some indefinable sentiment made her hesi- 
tate before that door on whose very knob her hand 
rested. Was this really her fiancS who had returned? 
Who could say that he was not the lover — the hus- 


132 


sabine's falsehood. 


band, of some other woman ? She quickly drove away 
this doubt, which seemed to her an insult to Roger. 
Nothing had compelled his return — he need not have 
come, unless it were to bring the realization of their 
former hopes. And yet — yet — how much might 
have happened in these ten years ! 

And Roger himself, would he be changed? She 
wished, at all events, to see him, before being seen by 
him, and she softly opened the door — as softly as her 
young sister would have done. 

She was struck to the heart by what she saw. Roger 
was standing in a careless attitude, his elbow on the 
window sill, and his face turned toward Flora, who was 
speaking in a tone unusually grave and slow for her. 
Sabine could not see his face, but Flora, her little 
Flora, the child who was scarce a woman, what strange 
expression was this on her face ! 

She was seated directly in the window, enveloped in 
the sunlight which lay on her pearly throat and among 
the light curls of her golden hair. Her face was up- 
lifted to Roger and her large eyes, riveted on his, 
expressed boundless admiration, of which she was 
either unconscious or did not care to conceal. Her 
smiling lips, half parted, seemed to hang on his every 
word. A light from within irradiated this young face, 
and shone through the frail envelope of this in fan tin ( 
spirit. Even her cheeks had that color — at once warn] 
and pale — of an alabaster vase that contains a lamp. 

Sabine was startled. At a glance she measured the 


sabine’s falsehood. 


133 


danger that threatened her, and foresaw the strange 
complication, which Koger’s return would perhaps 
bring into her life. 

What would happen, if he should make Flora love 
him as he had already made her ? She shivered at the 
thought, and for a moment closed her eyes. Then 
slowly, silently she entered the room. 

It was only when she stood at Flora’s side, that the 
girl shook off the fascination which Roger seemed to 
exercise over her, and noticed her sister’s presence. 
She rose hastily. 

Sabine ! ” she said. 

Roger turned. 

How many times in the rare reveries which Sabine 
had permitted herself to indulge, had she pictured this 
happy hour of their reunion. What ecstacies ! What 
bliss ! They would take up the poem of their love at 
the last leaf they had turned together, and new harmo- 
nies, stronger — sweeter still, than any they had ever 
heard, would ring through their hearts — a second 
youth would be theirs. 

Would it be with an ardent kiss, or with a calm 
and solemn embrace, that Roger Avould meet and 
reward the faithful, unshaken affection of his betrothed ? 

On hearing the name of Sabine pronounced by 
Flora, Roger turned slowly — without eagerness, almost 
with indifference — and looking coldly toward this 
woman who stood in her coarse, ungraceful garment 
before him, cold and pale with emotion, he extended 
his hand ceremoniously and took her icy fingers in his. 


134 sabine’s falsehood. 

Poor Sabine ! Every trace of youth and of beauty 
had disappeared from her face, her eyes were haggard ; 
her lips closely pressed together as if to stifle a cry of 
agony, were thin and colorless, and the restraint she 
imposed on herself to appear calm, gave to her whole 
person an air of ungraceful constraint. 

Roger almost smiled. She seemed to him so little 
worthy of having occupied the heart and the imagina- 
tion of a man still young, that he was thankful that 
she had not imitated his fidelity, and secretly blessed 
that unknown rival who had quickened the beating of 
the heart under this rough envelope. 

What would have happened, he asked himself in 
horror, if he had not met Flora, and if she, with girlish 
frankness had not released him from the obligation 
under which he felt himself, of placing his fortune and 
his heart at the feet of this provinciale whom he 
found so frightfully unattractive ! 

To utter a word of kindness to Sabine, to ask her to 
become the companion of his life, the light of his 
home, the realization of his ideal, to see in her that 
gentle creature of whom he had always dreamed — a 
creature who would require his strong arm and pro- 
tecting care — was simply absurd. 

He absolutely did not know what to say to her, nor 
what subject of conversation to broach — fearing to 
utter one word which might be construed into an allu- 
sion to the Past. 

She, equally terrified lest he should perceive her 


sabine’s falsehood. 


135 


agitation, lost, for the first time in her life, her habitual 
aplomb^ and seating herself in the shadow — trembling 
and silent, watched first Flora’s face and then Roger’s. 

Wishing to put an end to a situation fast becoming 
intolerable, Roger decided to resume the conversation 
interrupted by Sabine’s entrance. He turned toward 
Flora : 

“ I was telling you,” he said tranquilly, and he then 
continued the description of a perilous journey he had 
made, and of its successful termination in spite of all 
the obstacles he had encountered. He expressed him- 
self with marvellous fluency, never making himself the 
hero of his tale, nor exaggerating any of the facts, and 
yet, the young girl’s imagination had already crowned 
him with that halo with which extreme youth surrounds 
the brows of great men. 

Silent, forgotten, Sabine looked sadly on this scene, 
the actors in which, were the two persons dearest to 
her in the world. 

Ah ! how eloquent she thought him, and how well 
she understood the avidity with which this child hung 
on his words. But he ! how could he meet her without 
any emotion ? Had he changed to that degree, that he 
could be carried away by the flattering admiration 
expressed in that young face ? She did not listen to 
what he said. The tumultuous beating of her heart 
almost stifled the sound of his voice. She suffered so 
cruelly that she was tempted to rise and leave the 
room. This Roger whom she saw, so calm and so 
indifferent, was not her Roger. 


136 


SABIN e’s falsehood. 


Why had this handsome, courtly, talkative stranger 
come to tear down her edifice of fair dreams — of sweet 
souve7iirs^ and fondest hopes ? She said to herself, in 
this moment of supreme anguish, that she would have 
preferred never to see him again, and to have spent all 
her life in waiting. 

The entrance of Monsieur de La Rulli^re, finally 
furnished an opportunity for her to make her escape with- 
out being noticed. The old gentleman had suddenly 
remembered the visitor, and had a vague idea that the 
name which he had scarcelj^ heard, was not altogether 
new to him. But business was of more importance in 
his eyes than anything else, and when he had dismissed 
his last applicant, he said to himself: 

“ What did Flora say ? Was it De Bargemont ? ” 

And as the Past slowly reconstructed itself in his 
busy head, he adopted his most determined air with 
which to greet his guest. His habitual distrust sug- 
gested to him, that the object of this visit must be an 
interested one. 

Sabine was no longer young. He taunted her at 
times with being faded, and an old maid. This adven- 
turer — for, of course, he was one — had undoubtedly 
failed in his efforts to acquire a fortune, and had come 
to borrow money and to influence Sabine to renew 
their engagement. 

He began by examining Monsieur de Bargemont 
with all the prudence of an old fox, who divines a snare. 
His clothes, certainly far from shabby, his appearance 


sabike’s falsehood. 


137 


was more than irreproachable- — it was elegant — and 
he had nothing of the obsequious air of a man who has 
need of you. Quite the contrary ! for he bowed to 
Monsieur de La Riilliere with a certain hauteur, not 
altogether displeasing to that gentleman, as a penniless 
man rarely allows himself to adopt that style. 

Monsieur de La Rullidre felt the way before he 
expressed any especial cordiality, and was adroit 
enough to make Roger admit that he had returned 
from the New World with a large fortune. Seized with 
vast respect for this man, who had been successful and 
who had probably come to fulfill an old promise, and 
would ask him for his daughter’s hand for the second 
time, he said eagerly : 

“You will dine with us, of course, my dear friend?” 

Roger bowed. 

“ I fear I shall not be able to avail myself of your 
invitation,” he said, “ I ought to return to Paris.” 

“Nonsense! There is no train to-night. Where is 
your luggage ? ” 

“I left it at Saint -Romauld, at the H6tel de La 
Lecome.” 

“ La Lecome I Heavens and earth ! what a place I 
You are my guest, and I shall send for j^our luggage 
at once. Sabine, you must order one of the stable 
boys — Sabine I where are you? — As for going back to 
Paris, I hope you will put the idea out of your head 
for some time. We rarely have an opportunity of 
welcoming so agreeable a guest I ” 


138 


SABINE S FALSEHOOD. 


Flora looked at her father with astonishment. It was 
the first polite phrase she had ever heard from his 
lips. 

Sabine was not seen again until dinner was an- 
nounced. She was even a little late — she, who was 
always so punctual — and when her father reproached 
her, she made some vague answer — something about 
her duties as mistress of the house. 

Her toilette was as careful as it was every day, but 
she made it only that no change in her should be 
noticed by her father, or by Flora. It was no longer 
for Roger that she dressed. During the dinner and the 
subsequent evening, she was very silent, bub entirely 
self-possessed, in spite of the despair that gnawed her 
heart, as she saw Roger’s eyes rest coldly upon her, and 
then turn with a look of tenderness toward Flora’s fair, 
girlish face. At times she even fancied that he looked 
at her with astonishment. 

The fact was, that his taste as a man of the world, 
was first shocked by Sabine’s careless, untidy costume, 
but he was even more disturbed, by seeing her enter 
this dull-gray room, wearing a silk dress of that false 
and odious color known as magenta, and a coral neck- 
lace, the brilliant color of which impoverished the robe 
and darkened still more her complexion, tanned and 
roughened by the weather. 

Close beside her, sat in all the poetic freshness of 
her seventeen years, that delicate flower, whose ideal 
beauty was made even more exquisite by contrast. 


sabine’s falsehood 


139 


She wore no ornaments, save the wild roses in the 
belt of her clear, white muslin robe, and instead of the 
stiff bandeaux encircling Sabine’s face, soft, blonde 
curls floated over her brow. 

He would not have been a man, had he not hastened 
to silence the scruples which bade him remain deaf and 
blind to the attractions of this child. 

This evening was, to Sabine, almost interminable. 
She breathed more freely when Monsieur Bargemont 
having bidden his host good night, she was free to go 
to her room, as she supposed. 

“Where now?” cried her father. “Wait, if you 
please, I have something to say to you. Go to bed, 
Flora ! ” 

Sabine patiently seated herself, and Monsieur de La 
Rulli^re drew his pipe from his pocket and filled it. 

When he had lighted it and drawn a few whiffs, he 
crossed his arms, and looking full in Sabine’s face, he 
said : 

“ Well, what do you think about it ? ” 

“About what?” asked Sabine, nervously. 

“It, or him — it makes no difference. I mean your 
fiance^ of course.” 

“ I have no jiancS^ and if it is of Monsieur de Barge- 
mont that you desire my opinion, I must beg you to 
wait until I know him better.” 

“ Well! if ever I heard any thing like that I Here 
is a man who comes from the other end of the world 
to bring you a fortune, and you treat him as if he were 
a stranger ! ” 


140 


sabine’s falsehood. 


“And so he is, to us.” 

“ At any rate, he was your jiancS once.” 

“ You know very Avell that he was free when he went 
away — as free as myself. How can you tell that he 
has not come back married?” 

“ My common sense assures me that he would not 
have come all this distance, merely to inform you of 
that piece of news. What have you to say to that ? ” 

“ Another sentiment might have brought him here. 
It is quite possible that he wished once more, to see 
with his own eyes, what Time had done to the face 
which once pleased him. But pray do not let us discuss 
this point. I know no more than yourself, the motives 
influencing Monsieur de Bargemont to come here to 
see us, when it was not in the least incumbent for him 
to do so, but you do know perfectly well, that I have 
obeyed his wishes and commands most strictly. He 
bade me not to write to him. I have never written a 
line, I went further — I never mentioned his name. 

“ He, on his side, never attempted to send me any 
intelligence of his welfare. We were, therefore, abso- 
lutely free, and neither of us has the smallest right to 
be astonished if the other had made use of this liberty. 
I would like to feel that you have forgotten the Past as 
completely as I have myself.” 

Notwithstanding all her efforts, her voice trembled 
a little. 

“And then,” she continued, more flrmly, “how do 
you know that Monsieur de Bargemont has not come 


sabine’s falsehood. 


141 


here to propose some business negotiation to you — 
some investment or speculation? Some purchase of 
land, for example. Did he not say that he had funds 
lying idle ?” 

“ Upon my life, that is not a bad idea,” said Monsieur 
de La Rulli^re, his face lighting up. “Very likely, you 
are right — for you are the cleverest woman I know, 
although, my poor girl, you are no longer the youngest ! 
I must confess, too, that in spite of the fortune you 
will have some day, when I am dead and gone, you are 
not the wife I should choose, if I were a handsome 
3-oung fellow like Monsieur de Bargemont. The idea 
that he came to claim you, after all these years, is as 
you say, simply preposterous ! 

“ Now then, as we are alone, you had best read to me 
this article on the phylloxera^ that appeared in the last 
Revue, It ought to interest you.” 

Sabine felt a momentary rebellion, against this 
egotism which passed so blindly over her ruined happi- 
ness; but she controlled herself, and had the courage 
to read to the end, without the omission of a line or a 
word, the article her father demanded. 

When she was alone in her chamber, she was over- 
whelmed with terror. She felt like a traveller who, 
overtaken b}^ a whirlwind just as he enters the harbor, 
knows that certain ruin awaits him, instead of the 
prosperity he had confidently expected. 

“All is over!” she wailed in her despair; “he loves 
me no more ! ” 


142 


sabiiste’s falsehood. 


CHAPTER X. 


A MOBNING WALK 



lARLY the next morning, Roger — fatigued by a 


-1 J sleepless night— passed through the great gate of 
the Chateau. Pie had made useless efforts to place him- 
self on good terms with his conscience, and determined 
to discover whether fresh air and exercise would not 
make it easier for him to face the coming events of the 
day. He now reproached himself severely, for having 
lent such ready credence to Flora’s suppositions, since 
her artless indiscretions had really revealed nothing 
positive. 

Should a mere suspicion have allowed him to turn 
coldly from a woman who, after all, had been faithful 
in act, if not in sentiment, to him ? And he felt more- 
over, that had Sabine been young and pretty, he would 
have lent less ready an ear to the revelations of her 
young sister. 

From the very depths of his conscience, a voice even 
more condemnatory, said that if he had not met in the 
home of his former jiancS — now without charm in his 
eyes — this young creature, whose presence was as 
intoxicating to him as the aroma of certain flowers, he 
would, at least, have waited to see if Sabine asserted 
her liberty. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


143 


Under the pale sky — scarce tinged by the coming of 
the dawn — drinking in the crisp air with eagerness, he 
felt the fever that heated his blood gradually disap- 
pear. Reason triumphed, and he no longer sought to 
silence his scruples. He said to himself, that as he had 
pushed to excess the feeling that induces a man of 
honor to respect a promise, he would continue to do so, 
and that he would not leave La Rulliere until he had 
obtained from Sabine herself, the right to dispose of 
his heart and his life as he pleased. And after that? 
Would he have courage to leave this Chateau, wherein 
he had felt the first real unconquerable tenderness of 
his life ? 

And if Sabine, proving her sister’s suppositions to be 
an error, should claim from him the reward of her 
fidelity, would he have the still greater courage to 
place unconquerable barriers between himself and this 
child, who seemed to have grown up in his absence — 
the very realization of his dreams — would he ever 
dare swear love and fidelity to this cold, weary -faced 
woman, and near her every day that fair child, whose 
presence bewildered and disturbed him as Sabine’s had 
never done ? At thirty-four, he realized that he loved 
for the first time. 

While he walked rapidly along the highway, 
absorbed in these thoughts, sounds of the awakening 
world rapidly succeeded each other. A roey flush 
obliterated the pearly grays. To the gay song of tlie 
birds was added the crowing of the cocks, answering 


144 


sabtne’s falsehood. 


each other from adjacent farm-yards. A distant bell 
was heard, and Roger instinctively turned in the direc- 
tion whence came that sound, and soon found himself 
in front of a square tower, much dilapidated, and over- 
grown with ivy. A porch led to the church in which 
there were monuments and tombs of different epochs, 
almost all bearing inscriptions; Roger read several of 
them. They all told either in the humble language in 
which a good man writes his own epitaph, or in the 
pompous words composed by his heirs, the virtues, the 
regrets, and the hopes of a long uninterrupted succes- 
sion of noble and powerful scions of the house of 
Les Allais. With the exception of those who had 
perished on the field of battle, they all slept there, 
from the brave Jacques des Allais who fought in the 
Holy Land, and whose rough-hewn effigy, worn by 
Time and mutilated by Revolutions, was still to be seen, 
down to this Monsieur des Allais, whose bust still new, 
smiled with the complaisance of a man who had on his 
conscience no graver crime than that of having rebuilt 
the Chateau of his fathers, in accordance with his own 
personal tastes. 

This name was not new to Roger, who remembered 
that he had heard Flora mention it the evening previous, 
as that of the man whom Sabine loved ! He asked 
himself how it was, that the descendant of so noble a 
race could be a rough and solid country gentleman, 
square-shouldered and bright-colored, drinking and 
swearing like a peasant — never at ease without a gun 
on his shoulder, or a horse between his legs. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


145 


Such had been Sabine’s father in his youth, and such 
was his idea of the hero of Sabine’s romance. 

While he was drawing this mental picture, an indi- 
vidual appeared on the road opposite to the one by 
which he had himself reached the church. 

Roger glanced at him, and then struck by the 
oddity of his appearance he examined him more closely. 

From the primitive cut of his clothes, wdiich were 
too short, showing his ankles and his wrists, as if he, 
like a school-boy, had grown too rapidly — from his 
red fingers, and from the peculiar expression of his 
face surrounded by long blonde hair, Roger took him 
for a student on his vacation. In his hand was a long 
sprig of roses which he held with a care that amounted 
almost ta tenderness. 

When he reached the church, he knelt before the 
open door, crossed himself and waited. Mass was just 
over. Several peasants wrapped in their brown cloaks, 
as sombre and silent as ants came out, seeing the 
humble reverence they each made to the new comer, 
Roger said to himself : 

He must be the school-master — he has all the air 
and manner of one.” 

Suddenly a luminous spot appeared in the obscurity 
of the porch. Fresh as the dawn, her fair face faintly 
flushed by the reflection from her broad-brimmed hat 
lined with rose-color, and with^the white dress falling 
around her in graceful folds, came Flora de la Rulliere. 

She dipped her fingers in the Holy Water, and 

9 


146 


sabine’s falsehood. 


crossed herself. The individual with long, light hair 
now approached her, and with a respectful, almost 
suppliant gesture, presented the flowers, she thanked 
him without looking up, colored a little, and moved 
rapidly on. He stood still, looking after her as long as 
he could see her. 

Roger could not resist ascertaining whence came 
this bouquet, sent, he quickly inferred, by the hands of 
a gardener. He rapidly followed Flora, and soon over- 
took her. 

She started as she saw him, and then with a joyous 
smile, said gayly : 

“You are out very early.” 

“Not earlier than yourself.” 

“ Oh ! with me it is one of my convent habits. I 
first worship at church, and then I worship in the fields. 
How delicious the country is at this hour. Do you 
smell the delicious odor of the bean fields?” 

“ No. I only perceive the fragrance of the roses in 
your hand.” 

Flora looked down on the flowers as if she had 
forgotten their existence, and then lifting them to her 
face, she said slowly : 

Yes, they are very sweet.” 

He who sent them, probably, bade them bring you 
the sweetest of messages ! ” 

Flora looked at her roses almost with compassion. 

“ Poor Jacques ! ” she said softly. Then lifting her 
eyes she saw those of Roger, eager with curiosity, fixed 


sabine’s falsehood. 


147 


upon her. She colored deeply ■ — and troubled without 
knowing why — she said again, “ Poor Jacques ! ” 

Roger totally misunderstood her. A keen pang of 
jealousy shot through his heart, and compelled him to 
realize how strong was the hold which this new-born 
love had taken upon him. Our affections may gen- 
erally be measured by the pain they cause us. Each 
new tenderness in our lives bears in its train a long 
procession of torments and agonies ; this is why the 
purely selfish man has possibly the best chance of hap- 
piness here below ! And this too, is why Roger, who 
was not selfish, said to himself, if Flora’s heart were 
already given to another, that his future life would be 
one series of regrets and disenchantments. 

More than ever was he curious to know this provin- 
cial Lovelace who had made himself beloved by two 
sisters at one and the same time, and who naturally 
preferred the younger. He certainly must be irresisti- 
ble, this person whom he had found so unexpectedly in 
his path — this unknown who had suddenly assumed so 
great an influence over his destiny. 

He had begun by being pleased with the obstacle 
that prevented the accomplishment of his duty as a 
man of honor, toward Sabine, and now cursed it when 
it prevented him from seeking happiness in Flora’s 
love. 

Did she love this Jacques? The doubt became 
almost insupportable. At the risk of new and addi- 
tional pain, he determined to know the truth. Per- 


148 


sabine’s falsehood. 


haps if he found her heart was occupied, this very 
discovery would enable him to conquer his passion 
more easily. But as he was about to surprise the secrets 
of this young girl, he felt a sense of shame as if com- 
mitting a sacrilege. He dared not ask the question 
directly that burned on his lips, and he approached the 
subject from afar off. 

“You have relatives in the neighborhood, I pre- 
sume ? Have you any other society here ? ” 

“With the exception of one family, we see no one.” 

“And that is composed of? — ” 

“ Of an ogre who frightens me, and of two old 
fairies, one of whom is ridiculous and pretentious, and 
the other mischievous and teasing. This last is my 
god-mother.” 

“ And are these all ? ” 

“Every soul.” 

“ And this Monsieur des Allais, whose noble ances- 
tors lie under the sod of the cemetery, I have just 
visited, what of him ? ” 

“ Ah ! you were at church just now, then ? ” asked 
Flora, quickly. 

“Yes, does that displease you?” 

“No,” she answered, slowly. 

“But you have not told me? Where does this 
Monsieur des Allais live ? ” 

“Near the church, in a gingerbread chateau.” 

“ Did you not tell me yesterday that he was fortunate 


sabine’s falsehood. 


149 


enough, or unfortunate enough, to he loved by your 
sister Sabine ? ” 

The smiles faded from Flora’s lips — she became 
very grave. 

“Listen to me patiently, will you? Yesterday you 
took me by surprise. I chattered as I migl,it have done 
ten years ago at my aunt’s — all without a moment’s 
thought — and I never dreamed that so much importance 
would be attached to what I said. I wanted papa — 
but it is no use, I can’t explain, but I did wish that 
Sabine was not so horribly sensible, and that she did 
not expect me to be the same. .Several times however, 
I fancied that this cold sense of hers was melting like 
the snow with the heat of some internal fire, and I came 
to the conclusion that she loved some one. Certain 
coincidences compelled me to the belief that this some 
one was Monsieur des Allais, our neighbor, and also 
that Sabine’s occasional sharpness arises from grief at 
finding her love unreturned. All these foolish conjec- 
tures I, like a little scatterbrain without tact or experi- 
ence, saw fit to tell you — you whom I hardly know 
at all ! 

“ What can I say now? You know very well that a 
girl leaving her convent, may readily make blunders 
which she discovers only when* too late. It is hard for 
a girl to have no mother, a mother would see her mis- 
takes, teach her to avoid them or to repair them. But 
I, alas ! have no one on whom I can rely — ” 


150 


sabine’s falsehood. 


Turning her lovely, troubled eyes on Roger, she said 
gently : 

“ May I rely on you ? ” 

Roger could not speak ; he raised slowly to his lips 
the delicate, rosy-tipped fingers which she laid in his. 
The kiss he pressed upon them was so eloquent that 
Flora drew her hand hastily away. To conceal her 
embarrassment and to prevent Roger from seeing her 
face, she bent once more over her roses. 

‘‘And does Monsieur des Allais bid his gardener 
bring you these bouquets?” asked Roger with the 
same jealous pang. 

“ His gardener ? No, indeed, he brings them himself 
every morning to the church, because there, of course, 
I am compelled to accept them, and because he knows 
very well that elsewhere I can avoid him.” 

“ But why do you wish to avoid him ? ” 

“ Because I am afraid of him, as the little Princess 
in the fairy tale is afraid of the ogre who lies in wait 
to carry her into his castle and devour her.” 

Roger’s heart leaped with hope. 

“ Then you do not love him ? ” 

Flora made a charming little gesture of horror. 

“ It is not my fault, I do assure you,” she said in a 
discouraged tone. “ I have done all I could, but it is 
impossible ! ” 

“ Do you mean that you wish to love this man ? ” 

“ I do indeed ! ” 

“ And why, pray ? ” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


151 


‘‘For many reasons. First to obey papa, who is 
determined to make me marry Jacques. And I cannot 
consent to do so unless I feel sure that I can love him. 
But I have a horrible fear of my yielding, and then — 
oh ! then I could not live ! If I am not strong enough 
to stand firm, I know that my consent will be my death 
warrant ! ” 

“ Poor child ! And what other reason have you ? ” 

“ The desire of making Jacques happy, for he loves 
me — he loves me with his whole heart. And when I 
know that I could make him so happy, it seems to 
me — 

“ It seems to you ? ” — repeated Roger. 

“Never mind! But there is another reason, and a 
more selfish one, why I do wish to love Jacques. I wish 
to feel for some one the absorbing affection that Jacques 
feels for me, for I need to have the great void in my 
heart filled. You see the truth — I never knew my 
mother ; papa — of course I love him, but then — and 
Sabine never allows me to love her, or at all events to 
show my love. She thinks me romantic and sentimental. 
Am I to blame for that ? At the Convent I was beloved 
by all my companions, and by my teachers, and I loved 
them in return. But in those days I did not think 
much about it, and besides I was never alone. Since 
I have been here — I — Oh! yes, I wish I could love 
Jacques ! ” 

Charmed by these artless confidences, Roger forgot 
that his position in the family was both false and uncer- 


152 sabine’s falsehood. 

tain — forgot Sabine and his intentions — forgot his 
long fidelity, now rendered void by this momentary 
intoxication, and saw but one thing. Flora, this 
delicate, fragile little girl he had left behind him, had 
developed into a woman, whose nature was still childlike 
and simple enough, to permit him to read one of the 
spotless pages of her young heart. The temptation 
was too great. Being a man and only a man, he could 
not resist it. He stood still, and looking down into the 
limpid depths of the young girl’s honest eyes : 

. “ Do you think, little Flora,” he said gently, almost 
paternally, do you think that you would be obliged to 
try very hard to love me a little ? ” 

You ? ” she murmured in a tremulous voice. You 
know I would not, since almost without knowing you, 
I have made you my confidant, and have now no more 
secrets from you.” 

Roger’s repentance followed swdftly on his words ; 
but Flora’s simple answer reassured him. 

‘‘She does not love me yet,” he said to himself, 
“ and I have no right either to ask, or to expect it.” 

And he walked silently along by her side, thinking 
as he walked, that some day this heart would be 
stirred to its innermost depths — that the tempest 
would sweep through it. 

“ God grant,” he murmured half aloud, “ that this 
tender, young creature Avill fall into the hands of some 
one who will guard his treasure, and appreciate the 
blessing Heaven has bestowed upon him ! ” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


153 


His resolution was quickly taken. He must immedi- 
ately, without further delay, deliver himself from the 
intangible, imaginary ties which bound him to Sabine. 
He would go to her at once, and demand his liberty. 
But what if Flora were mistaken in her supposition ? 
What if Sabine still loved him? What if the feeling 
so carefully concealed from the inexperienced eyes of 
her young sister, were none other than her old passion 
for himself — strengthened by solitude and Time, strik- 
ing its roots deeper each year, encouraged by the obsti- 
nacy that he knew to be a part of Sabine’s character, 
and by, the obstacles, wdiich to a woman like herself, he 
felt sure must be only so many additional attractions? 

He did not care to linger over this probability, and 
said to himself, with all the cruelty of a man who does 
not love, that if a lingering affection for him was still 
in Sabine’s heart, the coldness of her reception gave 
him every right to doubt it. Common sense would 
enable her, strong-minded as she was, to triumph over a 
sentiment that could be only luke-warm. 

The}^ crossed the kitchen garden, noisy with the 
buzzing of bees and the eager cries of pilfering birds, 
and it was not until they were close upon her that they 
perceived Sabine, standing at one of the side doors of 
the chateau. 

She had seen them afar off, but neither Flora nor 
Roger noticed the pallor of her sun-burned clieeks. 
They were too much absorbed in each other, to see the 
dark lines under her eyes and their swollen lids. Roger 


154 sabinf/s falsehood. 

said to himself, however, that she was certainly very 
plain, and very ill preserved for her years. She had 
fastened a large apron over her dress, a bunch of keys 
hung at her side, and in an account-book which she 
held in her hand, she was putting down the number of 
pounds of butter and the dozens of eggs that the 
poultry woman was bringing in. 

Roger said good-morning, and stopped, determined 
to ask an interview. 

She continued her task, however, as calmly, to all 
appearance, as if he had been an utter stranger. 

When you are disengaged,” he said, ‘‘ may I ask 
for a half hour’s uninterrupted conversation ? ” 

She avoided meeting his eyes, and answered quietly, 
“ I am afraid that it will not be to-day or to-morrow 
then, for I am frightfully busy, but as you are, I trust' 
to be our guest for some time, there is no haste.” 

She added in a low voice, 

‘‘It will be better too, for every one.” 

Roger fancied that she shrank from an embarrassing 
explanation, one too, that would necessarily be a very 
painful one for her. He bowed profoundly and left 
her. 

But neither the next day, nor for many another, did 
Roger find an opportunity of having that conversation 
with Sabine, on which his whole future hung — so great 
was her care that they should never be alone together 
for a moment. The order that reigned at La Rulli^re 
was so perfect, the occupations and duties of each 


sabine’s falsehood. 


155 


person so regular, well defined and numerous, that no 
one, without the consciousness of deranging all the 
economy of this hive, could neglect his appointed task, 
Sabine was the managing spring of the establishment, 
and was to all appearance less interested in the stranger 
than any one else. 

Naturally, too, the duty of entertaining this guest 
devolved on the only person in the busy household, who 
was not overwhelmed with multifarious cares. 

Flora yielded innocently to the faseination that 
drew her toward Roger, and weleomed with delicious 
astonishment, each one of those sensations awakened 
within her by her new-born love, and yielded without 
a struggle to this breath of passion that wrapped her 
all about — enjoying all the happiness of being loved, 
and basking in the glow of those eyes w^hieh never left 
her face and form. 

Roger realized all she felt, and watched her eagerly. 
He had at last an end and aim in life. He wished to 
be loved as ardently and passionately as he loved him- 
self — to realize that happiness which had been the 
dream of his whole life, and which he felt he was 
renouncing, when he engaged himself to the cold and 
prosaic Sabine — to give a free outlet to all his aspira- 
tions — so long restrained by his iron will. He was 
astonished, almost alarmed as he realized their violence. 
Therefore it was, that he drank in with feverish avidity 
the innocent avowals he read in Flora’s troubled eyes. 


156 sabine’s falsehood. 

He never spoke of love to her, but Flora found his 
silence more eloquent than all Jacques’ poetic declara- 
>tions. It was not remorse, however, that withheld him, 
for seeing Sabine to all appearance, so resolutely silent, 
cold and absorbed, he persuaded himself that she felt 
only indifference, and perhaps a little discomfort at the 
recollection of the ties that had united them in the 
Past. 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


157 


CHAPTER XL 

A PLAN OF ACTION. 

A S soon as he learned the arrival of Monsieur de 
Bargeniont, Jacques des Allais rejoiced sincerely 
in the happiness which would at last fall to Sabine’s lot. 

He allowed several days to elapse, feeling that the 
lovers ought not to be intruded upon — then he 
appeared, ready to offer Sabine his warmest congrat- 
ulations. He saw her in the court-yard, as he came 
up the Avenue, and was greatly struck by the change 
in her. 

Neither Flora, absorbed as she was, nor Monsieur de 
la Rulli^re, blinded by selfish indifference, had noticed 
the fact, that Sabine had grown ten years older in these 
few days, which had been to her one long struggle 
against this great sorrow which swept over her like the 
waves at the coming in of the tide, bearing away, one 
by one, all her hopes, her illusions, her Past and 
Future, her blind confidence in Roger, and all the 
youth that remained to her, of body and soul. Her 
features had stiffened under this experience, and a new 
expression — far from a pleasant one — was on her cold, 
impassive face. 

Jacques drew back absolutely frightened — he hardly 
knew her. 


158 


sabine’s falsehood. 


“ What is it ? ” he hastily asked, almost before he 
knew what he was saying. 

She uttered a little laugh, marvellously like her 
father’s hateful sneer. 

What is it? ” she repeated. “ Nothing at all! Mon- 
sieur de Bargemont has returned. Go into the salon^ 
you will find him there with Flora.” 

He had no idea that these words contained a bitter 
reproach, and as she turned her away, he followed her 
with his eyes, dumb with astonishment, and feeling 
much as if the earth were crumbling under his feet. 

Roger, when lie saw Jacques enter the room, involun- 
tarily examined from head to foot, this scion of a 
noble race and ancient lineage, whom he had taken first 
for a teacher, and then for a gardener. He assumed a 
manner of excessive politeness and ceremony, far more 
marked than the occasion required, and found infinite 
amusement in the embarrassment with which Jacques 
received his exaggerated courtesy. 

Roger was not a fop, nor over conceited, but he did 
himself justice, and could not avoid instituting a com- 
parison between himself and this awkward, diffident 
personage who, on his side, examined him in silence, 
hardly replying to the questions, and left to him the 
burthen of sustaining the conversation. 

If Jacques had been amazed at the change in Sabine, 
he was still more amazed at that in Flora. 

When a woman loves, there is always something in 
her face that betrays her in spite of herself. In vain 


sabine’s falsehood. 


159 


may she attempt to guard her secret, it runs over her 
heart as from a cup filled too full. There is a fire 
within, whose light she vainly seeks to conceal; her 
eyes, her lips and her features are all illuminated. 

Jacques heard not one single one of the polite 
phrases which Roger, with all the ease and readiness 
of a man of the world, addressed to him. Distrait and 
embarrassed, he occasionally uttered a disconnected 
meaningless sentence — one that had not the smallest 
connection with the conversation, thus confirming 
Roger in the idea that he was three-quarters an idiot. 
His pale eyes devoured Flora with eager curiosity, and 
when he saw her glances meet those of Roger, with an 
expression he had never seen in them before — he 
started up, snatched his hat and went out without say- 
ing adieu, leaving Roger more gratified than astonished 
by this abrupt departure, the cause of which he fully 
understood. 

At the door, Jacques nearly fell over Sabine, so 
blinded was he by grief and jealousy. He wished to 
go on, but she took his arm, and pressing' her finger on 
her pale lips to impose silence, she drew him toward 
the garden, assuring herself that there was no one there 
who could hear them. 

‘‘Do you understand?” she said, hoarsely. 

Jacques passed his hand over his brow and his eyes, 
as if to dissipate clouds which prevented his seeing 
clearly. 

“ Ah ! I hoped I was visited by a nightmare ! ” he 


160 sabine’s falsehood. 

groaned. ‘‘Sabine! It is impossible I It is horrible! 
And you ? My own agony enables me to read yours ! ” 

Sabine stopped him hastilj^ 

“ No more of this I ” she said, firmly. “ I ask you, 
now and forever, never to waste any pity on me ! I 
am not a sentimental school-girl, given to heartaches. 
When a cannon ball cuts off your leg, you do not 
attempt to put it on, I presume. If you wish to walk 
again, your only resource will be to supply your loss 
by a leg made of wood! Ah! well, my friend, it is pre- 
cisely so with the heart — if you do not die under the 
blow, you gradually accustom yourself to circum- 
stances and recover. I have survived mine, you will 
do the same, and you will see that we shall both live 
to be eighty ! ” 

She tried to laugh satirically, but her voice suddenly 
failed her. 

“You are not in earnest!” cried Jacques, “and if 
what we fear be true, you will never be happy again, 
any more than myself. But it is not possible, Sabine. 
Tell me so with your own lips — say the same words 
— ‘it is not possible.’ Tell me that I have been fooled 
by a hkd dream ! ” 

“ Don’t talk of dreams, if you please, we have had 
enough of them in our lives, you and I ! And yet I 
have had little time to waste on them ! ” 

“As soon as I saw these two together,” she con- 
tinued, “ I scented the danger ; and five minutes later, 
I threw a shovel full of earth, and a black pall over my 


sabine’s falsehood. 


161 


dead hopes. We must be just, though, look at. them I 
Roger, my Roger, is the type of all that is noble, brave 
and manly. She — ” 

‘a^es, she—” 

‘‘Yes, yes, I know all that — and now look at our- 
selves. You, my kind friend, are kind and good, but 
you are not brilliant, are you? I — but that will do, 
we will say no more, we must have the courage to be 
just. They love each other — what could be more nat- 
ural. Let us make our sacrifice nobly, and decide that 
these two beings shall be happy. They were made for 
happiness, you see, and we for sorrow ! 

“In the first place, la petite is exactly like her 
mother. She has not an atom of force of character — 
not in the least like me — ” she threw back her superb 
head, and straightened her tall form. “ Sorrow would 
kill her, Jacques, and he — he must be happy ! ” 

She dashed away a drop of water — could it have 
been a tear ? — that glistened on her cheek, and coughed 
to clear her voice, which was husky and broken. 
Jacques — the gentle Jacques, rebelled. 

“ And by what right do you ask me to sacrifice that 
which is dearer to me than life itself, to the caprice — ” 
“Hush I” said Sabine. “My Roger is incapable of 
a caprice.” 

But Jacques continued, 

“ — To the caprice of a stranger whom I do not know, 
and merely because he has made both you and me 
miserable.” 

10 


162 


sabine’s falsehood. 


I forbid you to say again, that I am miserable 1 ” 
cried Sabine. ‘‘ It is false — utterly false.” 

‘‘This is utter childishness, Sabine. It is impossible 
for you to deny that you are suffering. I know too 
well what your feelings must be, by my own.” 

“A truce to sentiment!” Sabine replied. “And 
now I have no more time to waste. The Forest- 
Guard has been waiting an hour for me, and the veter- 
inary surgeon is coming. There are three horses and 
two cows sick, and therefore this is a bad time to 
select to be romantic. I waited at the door of the 
aalon^ while you were with them for a very different 
matter. 

“ I have no great confidence in your judgment or in 
your quickness of perception, but I thought unless you 
were absolutely blind, that one interview with these 
two persons together, would be sufficient to enable you 
to grasp the situation. I am not* especially quick- 
sighted, but you will admit that I was entirely right, 
when on your first introduction to la petite^ while you 
and she were hunting snails together — by the way, 
those spots never did wash out — I said to myself, ‘ no, 
this will never do, Jacques is not the husband for 
her ! ’ ” 

“ Now, mark well what I say — listen patiently and 
don’t interrupt me. They love each other, this is 
clear, and it is not agreeable to us, but the fact remains 
the same, and therefore needs no further argument. 
Well then, it now remains for us to take our stand — 


sabine’s falsehood. 163 

so far as I am concerned I have already done so — and 
not disturb their happiness by our selfish regrets. 
These two persons shall be happy, Jacques des Allais, 
as happy as any two beings, eV^r were on this earth, 
and you must forget.” 

He attempted to speak but again she imposed silence, 
and continued : 

“ I told you not to interrupt me. And if you do not 
forget, then all I can say is, so much the worse for 
you! 

“ There is one thing however, that I distinctly and 
positively forbid. La petite does not know that Roger 
is — has been — she does not know, I mean, that we 
two ever thought of marrying. When all that was 
going on she knew nothing of it. I had just placed 
her in a convent. She was just seven years old, and I 
did not think it worth while to talk of my marriage 
until it was a marriage. When Roger came back, his 
visit was of no more importance, and had no other 
meaning in her eyes than the visit of any other habitu^ 
of my aunt’s salon. She considered him free, and now 
it is too late. To tell her the truth at this time 
would be needless cruelty. 

“ There are only two persons who could possibly do 
this — my father and yourself. I am not afraid of my 
father. Monsieur de Bargemont is rich, and if he 
becomes his son-in-law, he will not care which of his 
two daughters he marries. With you, it is different, 
you would be tempted to tell la petite the truth, hoping 


164 sabine’s falsehood. 

to profit by her remorse and her sorrow. Do not say 
a word, you are a good fellow, but it would only be 
natural. 

‘‘Now, then, I distinctly forbid you to reveal to Flora 
that any tie whatever, existed between Roger and 
myself at any time. I forbid you Jacques, and you 
must now promise — nay, swear — by the great love 
you bear her — to obey me ! ” 

Bewildered, stunned, heartbroken, Jacques stam- 
mered something — promise, oath or protest, it mat- 
tered after all, little to him which — his heart was 
broken ! 

Sabine seized his hand, pressed it in an iron grasp, 
and whispered in his ear : 

“ Remember ! you have sworn ! ” 

She hurried away, without leaving him time to reply, 
and having not the slightest suspicion that from one 
of the windows of the salon^ Roger had been a 
spectator of this interview, the words of which he had 
not heard, but in regard to which Sabine’s gestures 
allowed him to form a most erroneous impression. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


165 


CHAPTER XII. 

HE LOVED ME ONCE. 

I T is easy to believe whatever one wishes to believe ! 

Monsieur de Bargeinont, deceived by appearances 
which he interpreted according to his wishes, was con- 
vinced that 'Sabine had made an avowal of her love to 
Jacques, and therefore abandoned himself without 
constraint and without hesitation to his own passion. 

Neither he nor Flora had the' smallest suspicion of 
the tortures which Sabine underwent. She, the very 
personification of uprightness, watched them without 
cessation but always at a distance, using every subter- 
fuge to see them v/hen. she was sure of not being seen 
by them. She contrived that their tete-a-tStes should 
take place where she, standing in the dark shadow, 
could watch them, devouring their happiness with 
burning, arid eyes, as a poor, famished, thirsty creature 
gazes on the fruits which he knows he will never be 
permitted to taste. 

She seemed to take a certain frenzied pleasure, in 
her own agoii}^, like the Fakirs of India, tearing out her 
heart with something of that ferocity which induces 
people to look on at a bull fight. 

. The tortures that another woman might have 
di'eamed of inflicting on her rival, this strange nature 


166 


sabine’s falsehood. 


preferred to endure herself. She had said that she 
would suffer and sacrifice herself for Roger, and meas- 
uring her love by the intensity of her despair, gloried 
in the thought that this love had never been withered 
by time, or faded by absence. 

As to Roger, she neither accused him nor blamed 
him. With heart-breaking humility, this proud and 
haughty woman admitted her unworthiness, and said 
he was right to disdain her. As soon as she saw him, 
her stern and pitiless common sense compelled her to 
admit, that she was not the wife for this still youthful 
and elegant looking man. 

These ten years had resulted very differently in her 
and in him — with her it was the withering of all her 
first freshness. And then, too, some women grow old 
vastly quicker than others. Sabine was one of these, 
and was conscious of so being; the nature of her 
occupations, her surroundings, her exacting disposition, 
her restless activity, were partially the reasons. But 
Sabine did not conceal from herself that the primary 
cause was the lack of sunshine in her life — the lack of 
that happiness and sympathy which bring the smiles 
of youth to the lips of the old. 

Roger, on the contrary, had reached that point in 
the life of a man, when he, having measured his 
strength, moved on with a calm, assured step, in full 
possession of all his strength and faculties, it was the 
time when all noble passions, all generous enthusiasms, 
all heroic impulses sprang to life in his heart. His 


sabine’s falsehood. 


167 


physical, strength moreover, having attained its perfect 
developement, his manly beauty was at its height, and 
Sabine frankly admitted to herself, that though she 
admired this beauty now, it had had little to do with 
her old girlish love for Roger. 

Day succeeded day, and formed weeks, which fell 
heavy as lead, and slow as centuries on Sabine’s weary 
head, and were to Flora and Roger, as swift as a pass- 
ing dream. Each word that fell from his lips, each 
opinion that he offered on men and things, his tastes, 
his judgments, were all carefully remembered by the 
young girl, and treasured as relics in the innermost 
sanctuary, wherein every young heart enshrines its 
first love. When Roger was not near her, she spent 
every moment in recalling his voice and his looks. 

The burning words she had heard from the lips of 
Jacques, also came back to her. Now that she could 
understand his feelings better, she pitied him, and 
smiled compassionately as she remembered his futile 
efforts to awaken a love in her heart similar to his own. 
She knew now the great mystery of the human heart, 
and understood that love is not learned as a lesson 
nor accorded through pity. 

Jacques’ roses had faded under the warm kisses of a 
July sun, and there were no flowers in the salon at La 
Rulli^re, other than the wild ones brought in by Flora 
and Roger from their walks; frail and languishing, 
colorless and sad were these tall stalks, which too, had. 
often been twisted in Flora’s restless fingers, during 


168 


sabine’s falsehood. 


those long intervals of silence on the part of Roger, 
whose mute eloquence she did not venture to interrupt. 
Bitter-scented queen of the meadow, mints and violets 
culled by the road side, filled the room with their odor 
as they lay perishing on some table, from whence the 
rough hand of Monsieur de La Rulliere impatiently 
brushed them. 

He was nevertheless very well satisfied. Roger’s 
presence was agreeable to him. It was an evidence of 
his success as an engineer. 

The very day after his arrival the old gentleman 
began to realize the advantage he might derive from 
the counsels of a man who had been able to make a 
fortune with no capital but his brains, and on the 
pretence of asking his advice, he had installed his 
guest as the manager of a large and important under- 
taking, none other than that of putting an end to the 
vagaries of the turbulent little river, by turning it from 
its course. Roger accepted with eagerness an occupa- 
tion which furnished him with such an excellent excuse 
for prolonging his sojourn at La Rulliere, without has- 
tening the denouement of a situation of which he did 
not clearly see the issue. 

Thanks to Sabine’s enigmatical conduct, he had not 
yet had an explanation with her. She wrapped herself 
about in a mantle of silence, held herself aloof from 
her sister and their guest, and seemed more and more 
absorbed in her occupations. Jacques having ceased 
sending his daily bouquets to Flora, and never appear- 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


169 


ing at La RulliSre, Roger concluded that a secret 
understanding must exist between himself and Sabine. 

Sabine asked herself sometimes how long this agony 
would last, and if her strength would endure to the 
end ; but she was resolved not to falter — was it not 
for her to assure the happiness of her sister and of 
Roger, which henceforward would be one ? 

She watched them, under the trees in the park, like 
the happy spirits that Dante saw flitting under the 
overhanging branches of those shady depths of Para- 
dise. She thought them both beautiful, and so fitted 
for one another, that she never once reproached them 
for their happiness. It was as natural for them to be 
happy, these two gay butterflies were created to flutter 
in the light, to intoxicate themselves with the honey of 
flowers, and to fly toward the sun ! 

She, the sombre bee, remained in the hive to toil in 
obscurity and oblivion. This was right. It was her 
place. 

She saw them stop at one of the stone benches which 
had survived the destruction of the old Park. Silently 
they seated themselves side by side. Behind the bench 
climbed a tall blackberry bush, covered with starry 
blossoms and ripening fruit. Flora drew down a 
branch heavy with berries. She selected one, and 
plucked it. Roger caught her hand and carried to his 
lips the fruit and the fingers that held it. 

She laughed to hide her embarrassment, but he did 
not permit her to withdraw her hand — a pretty, childish 


170 


SABINE S FALSEHOOD- 


hand — dainty, rosy and dimpled, but one with no sug- 
gestion of strength, and almost transparent in its deli- 
cacy. He examined it attentively and then, almost as 
if it were a flower that he was afraid of crushing, he 
carried it to his lips. 

Sabine started back as if an arrow had struck her 
full in the breast. Instinctively she glanced down at 
her own hand — large, brown, and broadened by con- 
stant use. On one of her fingers, that which should 
have been encircled by a plain gold ring — flashed a 
superb ruby surrounded by diamonds. She tore it off, 
and emerging from her concealment, she went toward 
Flora with apparent indifference. 

“Wait! wait!” she cried, seeing that they had 
started up and were coming to meet her. “ Stay where 
you are, I have something to say to you. Here, petite^ 
I wish to make you a present. Take this ring.” She 
spoke in little jerks, panting somewhat, as if she had 
been running and was out of breath. 

“No — don’t thank me — I don’t like thanks. It 
will look better on your finger than on my brown paw. 
It is too large for you, but never mind, you will soon 
have another made to fit you, which will keep this one 
in its place.” 

She caught her breath here, and there was a bitter 
smile on her pale lips. 

“ It is very singular ! ” she added, “ these rings have 
always a way of disappearing if they are not held on 
by a simple gold hoop ! It seems to be inevitable.” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


171 


She spoke with feverish haste. Flora, who sus- 
pected nothing, put her coaxing arms about her sister, 
endeavoring to show her gratitude, for the child was 
rosy with delight. 

But Sabine broke away. 

“No, no,” she cried, “do not kiss me, you know I 
don’t like it. Come, I must go, I have no time to 
linger here.” 

“ Sabine ! ” murmured Roger, pale with emotion. 

He had recognized their engagement ring. 

She imposed silence upon him by a gesture, accom- 
panied by a look which was a revelation to him. 

The repressed grief — the determination and the 
involuntary reproaches he read in that one glance, over- 
whelmed him. A terrible suspicion shot through his 
heart. Did Sabine still love him? Had she never 
ceased to love him ? Was the icy welcome she accorded 
him one of those bits of prudery at which he had 
laughed in those far away days ? 

He dared not continue this self-examination. All at 
once his conduct appearec^ to him in a new light ; he 
accused himself of being both cowardl}^ and cruel in 
condemning Sabine without having heard her. His 
heart cried out that it was too late to repair this error. 
Thunderstruck at this discovery, he watched Sabine as 
she walked awaj^ She held her head high, but she 
moved slowly, heavily, as if she dragged a great weight. 

She went into the house and up to her room, where 
she shut herself in. She approached the windows. 


172 


SA bine’s falsehood. 


drew the curtains entirely away, and placed a mirror 
where she could see herself without a shadow. 

Long and attentively did she look at the face 
reflected in the glass. She counted the white threads 
which in the last few days had appeared in the lustrous 
coils of her black hair, and examined the tiny wrinkles 
in the corners of her eyes and her lips, studied the 
swarthy touches left by the sun and the wind on her 
temples, the freckles on her brow, and spared herself 
no one of those imperceptible blemishes inflicted by 
Time on her beauty. 

When she had finished this self-appointed and pain- 
ful task, she placed her two arms on the table and 
allowed her head to drop heavily upon them. 

“And I had never discovered it ! ” she sighed. “I 
am faded, old and ugly ! My beauty vanished without 
my knowing it. My youth, my future, my hopes and 
Roger’s love have all deserted me ! Only one thing 
remains, and that is my Past I Of that at least, no 
one can rob me ! ” 

“Roger may be ungrateful, cruel. He may give to 
my sister, under my very eyes, the heart that was mine 
— but he cannot prevent the past from having existed ! 
He loved me once. He loved me passionately ! Thank 
God for that ! 

“ Let old age, desertion, forgetfulness, one and all 
hunt me down — I will look them bravely in the face, 
hug my treasure to my heart and say: ‘he loved me 
once ! ’ ” 


SABIN e’s falsehood. 


173 


Poor wounded soul ! She clung to this last dShris 
of her vanished happiness with the dumb despair and 
frantic energy of the shipwrecked mariner, and did not 
suspect that the tempest had not exhausted its vio- 
lence, and that a wrench more cruel yet than all the 
others, would crush this last plank between her hands. 
That day for the first time, she failed to take that pains 
with her toilette which had become habitual with her. 
This negligence had an effect directly opposite to that 
which she might have anticipated. She wore a robe of 
soft clinging material, the gray folds of which hung 
gracefully about her — a fichu of black lace thrown 
carelessly over her hair, shaded her brow and broke the 
hard line of her hair — the geometrical precision of 
which had so often irritated Roger — and then fell to 
her shoulders, thus framing her face in transparent 
shadows. 

When she appeared before Roger who was watching 
for her, he was struck anew as by a second revelation. 
With her heavy-lidded eyes weighed down by sorrow, 
and the regularity of her features, she appeared to 
him as beautiful as one of those Italian Madonnas, 
weeping at the foot of the Cross. 

She reached the salon after the dinner bell had ceased 
ringing — a little late, as had been her habit since 
Roger’s arrival. In this way, she avoided all possi- 
bilit}', as she supposed, of being alone with him. 

But he, determined to speak to her alone even if it 
were only for a moment, was waiting for her in the 


174 


sabijste’s falsehood. 


vestibule, and as she appeared, he put his hand on the 
lock of the door to prevent her from opening it. 

‘‘No, Sabine,'’ he said, in a resolute tone, “you shall 
hear me now. I must say a few words to you. Your 
strange refusal to see me has lasted long enough. We 
must have an explanation. Our happiness, as well 
as that of others, depends upon it. If you, the first 
morning I was here, had not refi^sed to accord me the 
interview I solicited, much suffering might have been 
spared.” 

She looked him full in the face ; so admirably feigned 
was her calmness, that it was not strange that he was 
deceived by it. 

“Suffering?” she said, slowly, “what suffering do 
you mean? Is it yours? You do not seem to be 
greatly troubled. Or is it Flora’s ? I have never seen 
her so happy, and I am thankful to see the child so 
glad.” 

He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 

“For Heaven’s sake! Sabine, cease this farce. I 
have one question to ask, and only one. Answer me 
with your hand on your conscience, tiave you for- 
gotten the Past? Have you ceased to love nie?” 

She threw back her head proudly ; her straight eye- 
brows frowned, her eyes flashed. 

“ And I ask you if you have interrogated your own 
heart, and discovered if you have still the right to 
address to me a question like this ? ” 

She waved away his hand which still held the door, 
and said, coldly : 


sabine’s falsehood. 


175 


‘‘Go your way and allow me to go mine. We are 
both free ! ” 

He bowed deeply and moved aside. 

Monsieur de La Rulliere himself noticed that his 
guest was silent and distrait during dinner and all the 
succeeding evening. Roger excused himself on the 
ground of the gravity of the news brought by the day’s 
newspapers, for it was then 1870. War was imminent 
and already the shadow of her bloody arms was seen 
on the sky. 

The next day, when Sabine — who rose with the sun — 
awoke, she, with difficulty, aroused herself and shook 
off the heavy torpor, or the presentiment, which envel- 
oped her as with a funeral vail. 

It was one of the warmest days of the summer. 
Even the night had not cooled the heated air. The 
sun was not yet fairly up, but the heat was intense. 
When Sabine leaned from her window for a breath of 
fresh air, she could not restrain a long sigh of lassitude. 
The martins flew around the slate roofs, pursuing each 
other with sharp cries, and the locusts deafened hex 
with their monotonous noise. 

“ Another day of agony ! ” thought Sabine, as she 
lingered at the window, questioning herself in regard 
to the Future, trying to picture little Flora — her Flora, 
her child, the one care and first tenderness of her life — 
as Roger’s wife, as the wife of her Roger, her only love. 

They would go away together, leaving her alone, 
always alone, forever alone, with her old father, whose 


176 sabine’s falsehood. 

memory began to fail him, whose words were not 
always coherent. Utterly discouraged, and heart sick, 
she closed her eyes that she might no longer behold 
this desolate Future outspread before her, and looked 
back on her Past — her beloved Past full of love and 
happiness, of confidence and hope. And, as the even- 
ing before, she now repeated : 

‘‘ He loved me once ! That, no one can take from 
me!” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


177 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A DEATH BLOW. 

N otwithstanding the heat, Monsieur de La 

Rullidre and Roger had gone on horseback to 
visit a distant farm. Sabine redoubled her activity in 
her determination to conquer her physical and moral 
lassitude. 

In one way and another, this long day passed away. 
Toward evening a refreshing breeze arose. The birds 
— dumb during the midday hours — suddenly began to 
sing, and flattered among the branches and in the ivies 
on the wall ; clouds of tiny flies danced in the crimson 
rays of the setting sun — a golden dust that a breath 
would blow away. 

Sabine went to her dairy. She had inspected the 
stables, and now examined and counted the cheeses, and 
reproved in a stern voice, a whole regiment of dairy 
women. There was not a detail forgotten or omitted 
by her, her pitiless eyes discovering the smallest negli- 
gence. Nothing escaped them. 

She had given her orders for the next day, and her 
tasks accomplished, she turned away, gathering her 
long skirts about her, and stepping carefully over the 
scattered straw in the empty barn, through which she 
went. The thriving cats, and the hens and chickens, 
11 


178 sabine’s falsehood. 

eager to get under shelter for the night, ran before her. 
The sound of a horse’s feet made her start. Through 
the ill-lapped boards of the barn, she saw Roger leap 
from his horse and throw the reins hastily to a groom. 
For a moment, Sabine thought he had seen her and 
was coming to her. 

But no, never, not even in the early days of their 
lives, had this passionate tenderness illuminated his 
face when he came to greet her. 

She divined Flora’s presence, and looking from one 
of the open windows she beheld her sister, half lying 
on one of the rustic benches against the side of the 
barn. The heat of the day had been borne with diffi- 
culty by the young girl, who was, it may be, oppressed 
by the heaviness of her heart, as well as by the weight 
of the atmosphere. 

Had Sabine stretched out her hand, she could have 
touched that charming head with its loosened golden 
hair, and consequently she could hear every word of 
their conversation. 

When Flora saw Roger, she half rose and endeav- 
ored to repair this picturesque disorder, but her hands 
trembled so much that she soon found that she only 
increased it, and with heightened color she sunk back 
on the bench. 

He leaned over her and looked into her face. 
Neither suspected the mute despair of those hungry 
eyes watching them in the shadow, as Eve, banished 
from Paradise, might have looked through its gates. 


sajsine’s falsehood. 


179 


It was Flora who first broke the silence. 

‘‘ Did you come back alone ? ” she asked, in a low 
voice. 

‘‘Yes — alone. Your hither remained at Saint- 
Ronault. He wanted to keep me but I could not stay, 
my eyes ached to see you, petite ! The time for hesi- 
tation has passed. The hour of action has arrived. 
War is declared, my child, what ought I to do?” 

“You wish to go?” gasped Flora. “Ah! I see it, 
you wish to go I ” and she buried her face in her hands 
with a sob. 

“ Be calm, 'petite ! be calm ! ” said Roger, tenderly. 

Sabine divined by the tone of his voice, that he was 
made almost happy by this outburst of sorrow, which 
was in itself an avowal. 

“ Listen to me, little Flora,” he said, “ and when I 
have finished my confession, you will perhaps feel less 
regret at my departure. Your affection for me will 
not, in all probability, survive the avowal I am about 
to make. We have never said so, but we know that 
we love each other. The heart of the little girl who 
has slept so often on my shoulder, has given itself only 
to me. And I, child, love you madly. My life-long 
dream, petite^ has been to meet a gentle, loving creature, 
who would regard my love as her rock and refuge. 
When I saw you in that sunny meadow, among these 
swinging rose branches, you reminded me of a fright- 
ened bird fallen from its nest. You lifted your big 
blue eyes to me as if to entreat me to be good to you. 


180 


sabine’s falsehood. 


and my heart leaped toward you. Ah well I Flora — 
curse me if you will, condemn me, for I am not free to 
ask you to become my wife.” 

Flora started to her feet as pale as any ghost. 

“ Not free ! ” she stammered. “ Are you married ? ” 
Married ! No, Heaven be praised, my fault is less 
than you suppose, I am more unfortunate than guilty. 
When I left France to build up my fortune once more, 
I was on the eve of marriage ; or rather the news of 
my ruin had suddenly broken the preliminaries of the 
marriage just as all was ready. I was almost glad of 
this catastrophe. Do you know why ? I did not love 
my fiancee.” 

‘‘ Why did you marry her then ? ” 

‘‘ Why ? Because I knew that I must marry some 
day; because I was an orphan, without family, without 
a home ; because the prospect of growing old in lone- 
liness appalled me; because a lady, a mutual friend, 
did her best to persuade me ; because this marriage 
was suitable in point of years, age and family ; because 
in short — yes, I must admit it, since you cannot other- 
wise fully understand the position — she, the fiancee, 
loved me and permitted me to see it, a trifle too clearly 
perhaps. She was cold and haughty to others, and 
was it not natural that my vanity should be flattered 
by the boundless affection and admiration which she 
showed me ? ” 

And 3^ou did not love her ? You never loved her ? ” 
Never.” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


181 


The silence of the hour was disturbed by the cry of 
birds, by the barking of dogs, and a hundred other 
country sounds. They neither of them heard the low 
moan that echoed through the darkness and the silence 
of the old barn. 

Eoger continued. 

‘‘ I esteemed her, for she was intelligent and good. 
I even admired her beauty, which was incontestable, 
but it lacked one great charm — essential in my eyes — 
that of grace. The hardness of her nature grated 
against my tastes. I ought not to speak of her, save 
with respect and gratitude, but I must tell the whole 
truth, for the truth is my sole excuse. -I was to make 
a marriage of convenience, and this is why, when I 
learned my ruin, my first impulse was to welcome my 
liberty. 

“ I saw before me a life of toil, privation, and per- 
haps of poverty, but I was free ! 

‘‘ I was mistaken, however. She refused to restore 
me the liberty I claimed from her, and riveted my 
chains, by promising to keep her own. 

“ This was generous, for she was rich, and I was 
poor. She allowed me to depart, because on that point 
I was obstinate, but to depart in fetters. Then came 
the years spent in battling with fortune, of which I 
have already told you. 

“I was without one hope, one recollection, which 
should sustain me. I had only the unconquerable 
determination to triumph over ill -fortune, and to 


182 sabiiste’s falsehood. 

behave like a man of honor, who does not choose to 
find in a woman, his superior in generosity. 

All my enterprises succeeded, far beyond my most 
sanguine hopes. I returned to France, richer than I 
had ever thought of being, laden down with silver and 
gold, but poor in affection, and shivering as I thought 
of the bondage into which I deliberately walked. I 
came, however, with the full determination of keeping 
my promise. It was then that I met you. Now you 
know all.” 

‘‘ But she ? Have you seen her again ? ” said Flora, 
in great agitation. 

‘‘Yes, I have seen her,” he replied, “and for a 
moment I believed — I hoped — she loved another. But 
this suspicion I have not yet verified. Now, Flora, I 
appeal to your judgment as much as to your heart. 
What ought I to do ? ” 

“You should go to her at once,” answered Flora, 
without a moment’s hesitation. “ Question her, and 
if you have the smallest reason to doubt her love for 
you — tell her the truth and claim jonr freedom. But 
if she loves you as you say she did once, if during these 
long days of waiting she has wept and suffered for you, 
your duty is clear. 

“ It is not by cold and cruel ingratitude that you can 
reward the generosity of this woman, who has done 
you no other wrong than that of loving you without 
being able to touch your heart. I put myself in the 
position of this woman — whom I cannot love since she 
is my rival — and this is the reply my heart dictates; 


sabine’s falsehood. 


183 


‘‘Your first duty is toward her, and we have no right 
to rob her of her happiness.” 

It was Roger now who uttered a cry of anguish. 

“ But you, Flora ! Is it just that you should be sac- 
rificed ? Ah ! my child — I longed to bear you in my 
arms through life, and save you every rude shock. I 
hoped to stand between you and the very breath of 
Heaven, that it might not visit your cheek too roughly. 

“ Must it be that my love has only brought you pain 
and sorrow ! That in thinking of me it will be only 
with regret ? ” 

“Not regret,” she murmured. “ Whatever happens, 
I shall never regret these last few weeks.” 

Her voice was as tender as a caress. 

“I was so happy in 3"our love,” she continued, “I 
shall never regret that I have loved you.” 

Again, after a short silence, she went on : 

“ Listen, Roger. Sabine reproaches me for being use- 
less — she says too, that I am without energy. She is 
right. I am not good for much in this world ; if I 
should disappear from it suddenly I should leave no 
great void. 

“I am not very strong — I inherit a certain delicacy 
from my poor mother, and I probably could not support 
any great sorrow. I should prefer uncertainty whicli 
would at least leave me a hope. Since you have asked 
my advice you must permit me to dictate your course. 

“ Go to this woman who holds our happiness in her 
hands. If you acquire the certainty that she no longer 


184 sabii^e’s falsehood. 

loves you, come back to me. If not, remain with her. 
You need tell me nothing — I shall understand.” 

“No, Flora, if she loves me, if I see this beyond the 
possibility of a doubt, if I must break either her heart 
or yours, it is not with her that I shall linger. I shall 
at once join the army — you will never see me again, 
nor will she.” 

Flora wrung her hands in anguish she could no 
longer control. Roger snatched them and held them 
tightly in his. 

“ You will never know how I have loved you ! ” he 
murmured with passionate vehemence. 

“But she?” said Flora, “Tell me again that you 
never loved her,” 

“Never! Never,” cried Roger, “I never loved and 
never will love any woman but yourself.” 

When in the darkness Sabine awoke, and found her- 
self in her chamber, she never knew how she got 
there. It seemed to her that the marble slab on which 
she had laid her head was burning hot, and that a mist 
of blood prevented her from seeing the waning moon. 
She endeavored to gather the thoughts together that 
rattled through her brain like the beads of a necklace 
whose cord is broken. One thing only stood out clear 
before her, one single sentence echoed with pitiless 
clearness through this chaos : “he never loved me ! ” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


185 


CHAPTER XIV. 

STJGAB AND FBDIT. 

T he time for making sweetmeats was each year 
a memorable epoch in Mademoiselle Ydoine’s 
existence. It was thought of and talked of, long in 
advance, for it was of the first importance that each 
fruit should be taken at the precise minute when it was 
ripe enough, and yet not too ripe. Then a small 
library of receipt books was to be consulted, receipt 
books that had been in the family from generation to 
generation, handed down from a certain great-great- 
aunt, who had been abbess of Fonternault. 

Mademoiselle Ydoine had a laboratory for her own 
especial use, and at the head of an army of servants, 
and of a complete battery of cooking utensils, all as 
shining and polished as a jeweller's shop, she quite en- 
joyed her task. Did they not formerly make butter at 
Versailles, and was it not therefore agreeable to imitate 
those fair dames of other days, whom she so gladly 
would have brought to life again ? 

My readers will see that she took her comfitures an 
serieux. 

The auspicious moments for the Reines- Claudes hav- 
ing arrived, Mademoiselle Ydoine, wearing a much 
ruched cap, and an apron trimmed with lace and puce 


186 sabiis'e’s falsehood. 

colored knots of ribbon, sat enthroned at the head 
of a long table, on which lay mountains of dusky, 
golden plums, juicy and sweet, some of them cracking 
open with richness, others stung by pilfering bees. One 
servant was weighing snowy sugar; glass jars and china 
pots shining with cleanliness, stood ready to receive 
the contents of the kettles then bubbling on the fire. 

Mademoiselle Ydoine, armed with a pair of scissors, 
was cutting little rounds of paper, intended to cover 
the pots, while near her. Mademoiselle Florimonde, with 
a huge crash apron tied over her long jacket, assisted 
as an amateur in this great work. The apron was not 
altogether essential, since the only duty with which she 
was intrusted, was that of writing on each one of the 
papers cut by her sister, the name of the sweetmeat 
and the date, as thus : Reine- Claudes. 1870.” 

When the sugar was all weighed there was a brief 
period of comparative idleness, terminated by the sound 
of a bell, which announced the servants’ dinner. All 
the battalion disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, 
and the aged sisters were left alone. 

I think they will be better than last year,” said 
Mademoiselle Ydoine. ‘‘ But the plums are so magnifi- 
cent this season, that next year I am inclined to believe 
there won’t be one. I should be very sorry if it were 
so, as they are Jacques’ favorite sweetmeat. He ate 
such quantities last year that I found we had made 
hardly enough ; and yet I sent but six pots to our good 
Cur^, and gave away a few here and there to some of 


Sabine’s falsehood. 


187 


our poor sick. This time wo have such a bountiful 
supply, that we must not forget your god-daughter. 
She must have two of those largest glass jars. 

“ By the way, my dear, is it not an age since she was 
here? I am sorry for Jacques, because he seems so 
out of spirits. Does not he strike you as being greatly 
changed ? ” 

A faint groan was all the reply made by Florimonde. 

Ydoine continued : 

‘‘Jacques might carry them himself — it would give 
him an excuse for going to see her — and then too, the 
dear boy would like to give her the pleasure.” 

Another growl from Florimonde. 

“Florimonde,” continued Mademoiselle Ydoine, low- 
ering her voice, “ don’t you think it is quite time that 
Jacques should think of marrying? Your god-daugh- 
ter is very young, to be sure, but I am growing old, 
my rheumatism becomes worse and worse, and I do not 
wish to pass away until I have seen another generation 
of our name. We ought not to forget that Jacques is 
the last Des Allais — he has delayed marrying too long 
— young voices should have echoed through these 
lonely rooms long ere this, baby fingers should have 
been in ours, sister! We are to blame, perhaps, and 
yet, after all, it may be as well, since Flora seems to 
have grown up especially for him I ” 

“I do not agree with you at all,” answered Flori- 
monde. The wife he needed was not this simple 
creature — this foolish little flower without energy, 


188 


sabine’s falsehood. 


industry, activity or consistency. No, Sabine is the 
wife for him ! ” 

Mademoiselle Ydoine started. 

‘‘ Sabine ? You are dreaming, my dear ! In the first 
place the thing was impossible, for which I am very 
glad, for Sabine is the last person in the world, to whom 
I would confide the happiness of our child. They have 
not one taste, one sympathy in common. They are not 
in the least alike. She is positive, peremptory, decided 
— he all poetry — ” 

“ Pshaw ! ” interrupted Florimonde, shrugging her 
shoulders, “ are we two alike, you and I ? And yet we 
live comfortably enough together. Sabine, in spite of 
all the pleasure she takes in thwarting and contradict- 
ing me, is worth her sister a hundred times over, and 
I shall not hesitate to say so, to J acques, were he to 
ask my advice.” 

‘‘You are very unjust, Florimonde, and I can’t con- 
ceive what you have against this sweet young girl. 
She is amiable, kind and affectionate.” 

Mademoiselle Florimonde impatiently threw down 
her pen, which made a huge blot on the fairest of her 
inscriptions. 

“Listen!” she exclaimed, “you fret me to death 
with your enthusiasm for this little simpleton. She is 
heedless, indifferent and a coquette. She has neither 
brains nor heart.” 

Mademoiselle Ydoine drew back with evident terror. 

“ I don’t understand you,” she faltered, “ I really do 
not understand you I What has happened ? ” 


sabine’s falsehood 


189 


‘‘ It is about time to ask ! A good many things have 
happened lately at La Rulliere, which it is quite as 
well that all of us should understand. If you did not 
persist in living shut up in your shell as you do, you 
would appreciate the situation.” 

“Do you mean that Sabine’s marriage is broken off?” 

“Sabine’s marriage! You have hit it precisely. 
Here is this person who has come back, Heaven only 
knows why — and he had very much better have 
remained at Cochin China, or gone to the devil — here 
he is, I say, amusing himself by making love to Flora. 
I suppose he thinks Sabine has lost her freshness, and 
grown old since he left her. Flora, the little goose, is 
entirely carried away by the grand airs and elegant 
manners of this adventurer, and is with him all the 
time wandering about the fields and the highways — I 
wonder by the way, that her father permits such 
things ! ” 

“ Sabine is frightfully changed,” Florimonde contin- 
ued, “she looks as old as I do. Jacques, poor boy! 
We will not speak of him, however. And as to Mon- 
sieur de la Rulliere, he sees nothing, or rather he chooses 
to see nothing, because Monsieur de Bargemont is man- 
aging his famous drainage and fussing over the river, 
thus saving a world of expense. Never talk to me about 
innocent young girls. They are perfect nuisances and 
torments! Sabine has had but one thought in life — 
this child — and she never made but one mistake, and 
that was when she refused to confide Flora’s education 


190 


sabine’s falsehood. 


to me. If she had, the child would have grown up a 
very different creature, you may be quite sure ! ” 
Mademoiselle Ydoine imposed silence on her younger 
sister with a gentle wave of her small, wrinkled hand, 
half vailed in lace. 

Control yourself my dear,” she said. “You have 
a way of losing your temper that is very unbecoming. 
In the first place you cannot be sure of what you 
tell me.” 

“ Not true ! Do you think me blind ? ” 

“ Does Jacques know it ? ” 

“What a question! Did you not a moment ago 
speak of the change in him? He neither eats nor 
drinks, and I venture to say, sleeps very little.” 

“And do you think that Flora realizes all the harm 
she is doing by listening to the flatteries of this stran- 
ger? Does she not know why he came to La Rulliere? 
It is impossible that she never should have heard of 
Sabine’s broken marriage, or that she should be igno- 
rant of the fact that she had been engaged to Monsieur 
de Bargemont. Sabine, proud and reticent as she is, 
must have told her, if not before, at least as soon as 
she saw Flora’s fancy for the stranger. Ah I I know 
Sabine better than you do, sister I ” 

Mademoiselle Ydoine stopped a moment to draw a 
long breath, and then continued : 

“Do you know what I would do in your place, 
Florimonde? The happiness of our dear boy is 
involved. Flora has no mother, and it is your duty, as 
her god-mother, to advise and warn her. I assure you 


sabine’s falsehood. 


191 


that you judge the child harshly — she is not heartless 
as you think — and I am convinced that it will be only 
necessary for you to tell her that she is making both 
Sabine and Jacques miserable, and she will at once 
give up her fancy for this stranger — for of course it is 
only a fancy — young girls are given to these sudden 
enthusiasms. 

“ It is impossible,” continued Ydoine, thoughtfully, 
‘‘it is impossible that she can prefer this unknown — 
who has altogether too much of the dashing air of an 
adventurer — to our dear child, so good, so loyal, as he 
is, and above all, so rangS, Go to her, and speak to her 
gently, tenderly, maternally, but also with firmness. 
Believe me, this will be the best thing to do.” 

“ I will go. You are right, I will go this very day.” 

No, indeed, sister, you will wait until my sweet- 
meats are ready. I wish to see to these two jars 
myself, and to-morrow you shall take them to Flora 
from me. It would be a natural excuse for your visit, 
and for entering into conversation with her. It may 
be somewhat soon to cover them, but there is an excel- 
lent reason for haste, and if these two jars ferment, it 
won’t be any great harm. And poor Jacques and 
Sabine ! No, Florimonde, I won’t allow myself to 
think that you are right in your suppositions, and I 
hope to find that you are mistaken.” 

The next day therefore, at the hour which for many 
reasons, she regarded as most suitable. Mademoiselle 
Florimonde took her seat in the carriole which she 
used on market days. She would have infinitely pre- 


192 


sabike’s falsehood. 


ferred walking, but this idea she was obliged to relin- 
quish, for the heat was intense, and the sweetmeat jars 
were heavy and cumbersome ; moreover, she wished to 
appear in her feminine dress, which she regarded as 
more imposing, and more appropriate to the mission 
she had undertaken. 

She was by no means at ease however in her long 
skirts, which had a way of getting round her feet as she 
strode on. Her masculine movements and her short 
hair made her look like a man in the disguise of a 
woman. Entering the courtyard of the chateau, she 
clambered out of her vehicle, tripping over her 
skirts, red and heated, and embarrassed by the jars of 
sweetmeats. Monsieur de La Rulli^re had passed the 
night at Saint-Ronault, where Roger went at dawn to 
join him. 

No one had seen Sabine — and Florimonde was only 
able to learn that she went out at a very early hour 
and had not returned. 

Sabine had gone out because she was not one of those 
women who can shut themselves up alone with a sorrow 
gnawing at their very entrails. When memory and 
consciousness slowly returned to her after the shock of 
that terrible conversation, which she had overheard 
from the window in the old barn, she had angrily shaken 
off the torpor creeping over her, which threatened 
to benumb all her faculties, and without any 
attempt to seek the repose which she knew to be 
impossible, even if essential, she went forth with 
uncovered head, walking straight on, neither knowing 


sabine’s falsehood. 


193 


nor caring where she went, eager only to move until 
fatigue should dull the faculty of suffering. 

She walked on and on — walked until her feet were 
so weary and sore, that they almost refused to carry her 
further. Then only, did she think of returning to the 
Chateau de La Rulli^re. But the sun was now over- 
head ; it Avas about the hour when Mademoiselle Flori- 
monde, with the jars of SAveetmeats in her hands, 
entered the salon where her god-daughter was sitting, 
idle and alone. 

Flora was pale as death — dark circles surrounded 
her eyes, the lids of which Avere SAvollen with tears. 
She did her best to welcome her god-mother with a 
smile, and to thank her for her present, but her smile 
ended in a nervous quiver of her lips. 

“ It is so intensely warm ! ” she murmured, feeling 
that her pallor required an explanation. “ Take this 
chair and rest ; let me give you a fan. I am alone as 
you see.” 

“ So much the better ! ” said Florimonde, resolutely. 

By these words, she felt that she had broken the ice, 
which was in itself a relief. 

The truth was, the mission with which she was 
charged, was especially odious to her, and if it had not 
involved the happiness of “ our boy,” as she and her 
sister called Jacques, she would have fled at this 
precise moment. 

She did not know what to say, how to begin. She 
seated herself and breathed hard. Embarrassment 
12 


194 sabine’s falsehood. 

rather than the heat brought out tiny drops on her 
brow ; she scorned the fan offered by Flora, but used a 
iiewspaper which she took from the table, and created 
a small tempest of wind in true masculine fashion. 

‘‘Will you not lay aside your hat?” said Flora, 
merely that she might say something. “ I think you 
would be cooler.” 

Mademoiselle Florimonde pulled impatiently at the 
strings which held on her' head the curious structure 
of feathers and flowers — the chef d’oeuvre of a mil- 
liner in Saint-Ronault— but succeeded only in dragging 
them into an impossible knot. The more she tugged, 
the worse they became. 

“ Permit me to assist you,” said Flora. 

Mademoiselle extended her chin with a very bad 
grace, and allowed her god-daughter’s trembling fingers 
to try and bring the rebellious ribbons to reason. 

Suddenly, Mademoiselle snatched Flora’s hand, and 
holding it at a distance that she might see it better, 
for her sight was somewhat impaired, she said abruptly: 

“ What is that ? Whose ring is that ? ” 

“ It is, or rather it was Sabine’s. Do you not recog- 
nize it ? It is the one she always wore ? ” 

“ Do I recognize it ? I should say I did ! And has 
she given it to you ? ” 

“Yes,” said Flora, “she gave it tome a few days 
ago.” 

The girl could not in the least comprehend the aston- 
ishment imprinted on every feature of her visitor. 


SAB Ike’s falsehood. 


195 


“Very well then, child, I hope you are duly grateful, 
^for it is her engagement ring that she has given you. 
She chose a most extraordinary time for her present, I 
must say, just as her fiancS returned ! ” 

“Sabine! her fiance!'’ faltered Flora, who began to 
comprehend vaguely, that she was on the brink of a 
terrible discovery. 

“Yes, her fianeS — Monsieur de Bargemont,” and 
Mademoiselle Florimonde almost shrieked out the 
words. 

Then seeing that the girl stood before her as if frozen 
into marble, pale, motionless and cold, she was seized 
with a great pity. 

“ Did you not know it ? ” she asked, more gently. 
“Sabine ought to have told you, since Monsieur de 
Bargemont was not generous enough to do so.” 

It sometimes had happened to Mademoiselle Flori- 
monde in her hunting exploits, that she had been in at 
the death of a fawn. Notwithstanding all her pretended 
stoicism, her woman’s heart never could resist the 
touching appeal of those beautiful, dying eyes. 

She experienced at this moment, precisely the same 
impression. Looking on this dumb agony, she had 
but one idea, and that was to escape. She snatched at 
some trifling excuse, and hurried from the room. 
Entirely forgetting her carriage awaiting her in the 
court-yard, she hastened along the road to Les Allais. 
She had thrown the train of her dress across her arm, 
and fled with as much rapidity as if she had killed some 
one in'the house she had left. 


196 


sabine's falsehood. 


CHAPTER XV. 

A PLEASANT C O N V E B S A T I O N. 

TT^HElSr you are thinking of leaving us,” said Mon- 

JL sieur de La Rulliere to Roger, while their horses, 
fatigued by the heat and fretted by the dust and flies, 
were allowed to walk in the cool shade of the trees. 
“ You have not positively decided though, have you? ” 

“ Not positively.” 

‘‘I am glad of that, and I trust that you will give up 
the notion ; I should be excessively sorry to see you go 
away. The workmen are getting on, but they can 
really never finish the undertaking except under your 
supervision, for workmen are dull creatures. Then 
war and glory, and all that sort of thing, sound very 
well, but they don’t give you a fortune, and you can’t 
be sure of returning to enjoy what you already have, 
you know ! ” 

The old man laughed loudly, as if he had said some- 
thing amazingly clever. 

Believe me,” he continued, “ you had much better 
stay here and settle down among us. And it so hap- 
pens that there is an estate in the market on the other 
side of Les Allais. There is a Chateau with a Park, 
fountains, plenty of game and old trees, and with these 
rumors of war, I have no doubt you can get the prop- 
erty at a bargain, and — ” 


sabine’s falsehood 


197 


“I have no intention of settling in this neighbor- 
hood,” said Roger, coldly. 

Monsieur de La Rulliere lost all patience. 

“ My dear Sir, you must permit me to speak to you 
with my customary frankness. We are not the sort of 
people whom one comes tp see merely for amusement. 
When you came here, it was of course with a motive. 
You have been here more than a month, and I have yet 
to discover what it was. 

“ I imagine,” he continued, with a faint sneer, that 
it was not for the pleasure of conversing with me, nor 
was it, I suppose, to gaze platonically into Sabine’s fine 
eyes. Poor girl ! she is, to be sure, neither j^oung nor 
handsome nowadays. Therefore, if you would not 
regard it g^s an indiscretion, I should be infinitely 
indebted to you, if you would tell me the motive of 
your visit, and also its result. If you had no intention 
of settling here, nor of renewing with Sabine your old 
relations, permit me to say, in spite of all the pleasure 
your visit has given me, and the favor you have done 
me by assuming the direction of my workmen, that I 
think it would have been much better had you stayed 
away! Sabine has greatly changed since you came — 
yes, greatly changed— in appearance I mean. Her head 
is clear enough still. Her accounts are correct, but it 
is easy to see that she is not interested in them. 

‘‘Now,” continued Monsieur de La Rulliere, “I don’t 
like this sort of things at all ! Sabine is a woman who 
is worth her weight in gold, I know this, and I wish to 


198 


SABIN e’s falsehood. 


do her entire justice. I ought also to tell you that 
were she to marry, I could make her dowry just double ^ 
what it was ten years ago. I owe her this, for it is she 
who advised my best investments, and she ought to 
profit by them. You see therefore that things must be 
settled. I think I understand the actual state of the 
case. You came here with the intention of marrying 
her like an honest and honorable man. Come now, 
admit it.” 

‘‘ It is true,” said Roger. 

‘‘ And you expected to find the girl you had left — 
handsome, fresh and fair. Is not that so ? And you 
were disappointed, you thought her changed? Be 
frank!” 

‘‘Yes, I admit it,” cried Roger, who began to see in 
Monsieur de La RulliSre’s overture, a means offered by 
a kind Providence, to escape from his desperate posi- 
tion. 

“ Yes,” he continued, “I found her changed — ^greatly 
changed — not in face, for God be thanked, I am not a 
man to turn away from a woman who has waited and 
watched for me for ten years, because tears have faded 
the lustre of her eyes, or vigils whitened her hair ; but 
it is her heart that I find changed. The coldness of 
her welcome cut me deeply. I saw that I was nothing 
to her — that my return was almost disagreable, an 
inconvenience, or possibly an intrusion, and a reproach, 
and that, while I had been absolutely faithful to her — 
and sacrificed my interest to this fidelity — she had not 
kept her heart for me ! ” 


SABINE S FALSEHOOD. 


199 


“ Tut ! tut ! my friend, don’t get so excited. In the 
first place, we are not discussing a question of senti- 
ment. I know nothing, and care less about such ways 
of looking at things. I care only for matters of busi- 
ness, and I am discussing one with you now. You say 
then, if I understand you right, that Sabine did not 
keep her heart for you — I believe that was your fine 
phrase? What do you think she did with it, then? ” 

“ She gave it to another.” 

“And who was that person, pray?” 

“ To the only man who comes intimately to your 
house, to Monsieur des Allais.” 

The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders impa- 
tiently. 

“ Do you mean to tell me,” he asked, “ that you have 
never talked with Sabine since you came here, and that 
you are in absolute ignorance of our family affairs?” 

“ I have vainly sought a conversation with Sabine, 
and the care with which she had avoided me naturally 
confirmed me in my suspicion.” 

“Sabine is not a common woman,” said her father. 
“ I have a horror of these talkative creatures who take 
every one into their confidence, but she carries her 
reticence a trifle too far!”- He hesitated and then 
went on hastily : 

“ And you know nothing then of our plan of com- 
bining the Rulli^re and Allais estates by a marriage ? 
My first idea was naturally to marry Sabine to Jacques. 
And I would like you to have seen how she behaved 


200 


s A bine’s falsehood. 


when I broached the subject to her ! She fairly raved 
— said I had insulted her. I never saw her in such a 
mood before or since — for she, as I told you before, is 
not like other women. Finally, to put my first idea 
out of my head, she told me that she had thought of 
taking la petite from her convent, and marrying her to 
Jacques. I agreed of course, but things are moving 
too slowly. Between ourselves, Jacques is a good 
fellow, but he is a fool ; however, he would make a 
capital son-in-law ! ” 

Monsieur de La Rulli^re checked himself here and 
coughed, for he suddenly remembered that he was 
talking to a man who might possibly occupy that 
enviable position himself. To repair his blunder, he 
made haste to say : 

“ La petite has not Sabine’s brains, I know that well 
enough, and she would never have been the wife for a 
man of your ability. Sabine is very different, and I 
am sure if she had not looked upon herself as more 
than half married, that she would never have had 
accepted a man like Jacques. No no, he was not the 
kind of a husband for her, and I am prepared to assure 
you that Sabine never gave our neighbor a thought. 
But if you wish, I can ask her. Sabine is very proud, 
and did not, I imagine, wish you to think she was 
throwing herself at your head when you came back, 
and consequently was cooler than she ought to have 
been in her reception of you ; but I know that she has 
never wavered in her allegiance to you — that she 


sabine’s falsehood. 


201 


regarded herself as your fianeSe, and waited for your 
return.” 

‘‘ Are you sure of this ? ” asked Roger. 

“ Perfectly — absolutely certain.” 

“Thank you.” 

From this moment, Roger’s resolution was taken. 
Further doubt was impossible — no further hesitation 
was permissible. Flora had told him what he must do, 
and he would obey her to the letter. 

He did not speak another word until they dismounted 
in the court-yard at La Rulli^re. 

Sabine had just come in from her long walk, weary, 
covered with dust, and her hair in disorder. Her head 
was held as proudly as usual, however, and her self- 
control was absolute. 

The first person she saw was Flora, nailed to the 
place where Mademoiselle Florimonde had left her. 
The girl was as pale as if she had seen a ghost. 

Sabine went directly up to her ; but suddenly she 
stopped. Flora was standing, leaning against the wall, 
and looked at her sister almost with horror in her soft 
eyes. These two were no longer sisters, they were 
rivals — two women adoring the same man, each an 
obstacle to the happiness of the other. One was pre- 
ferred — the other was mortally wounded. Both suffer- 
ing cruelly, now seeing each other for the first time by 
the light of their new position, were both terrified by 
the change. 

Misunderstanding the determination of Sabine’s face 


202 


SA bine’s falsehood 


— deceived by the rigidity of Sabine’s features, which 
in her long struggle had acquired something of the 
hardness of a face' cut in stone — Flora thought her 
sister had come to her with reproaches, threats, and 
maledictions upon her lips, and involuntarily retreated, 
with a gesture of fright. 

Sabine knew nothing of the visit of Mademoiselle 
Florimonde; but at the first glance, she was certain that 
the girl had learned the truth, and knew the name of her 
rival. She, as we say, stood still and mentally accused 
Jacques of having spoken — in spite of his half promise 
to her, and her injunctions, while heart-broken — she 
read the terror in her little sister’s eyes, and detected 
not one shadow of tenderness or compassion. 

This was a moment of the bitterest anguish for both 
these sisters, who had never understood each other. 
Sabine had always labored to repress Flora’s affection- 
ate demonstrations — they appeared to her to be too 
expansive to be profound — and Flora had never 
divined the wealth of love and unselfish devotion con- 
cealed under her sister's cold reserve. 

At this moment. Flora completely misunderstood 
Sabine. She thought her capable of hatred, and 
crushed by the silence and rigid immobility of her 
sister, she was ready to faint with fear. 

Could she have read that sister’s heart, she would 
have seen there only immense pity, and profound 
gratitude for the generous words with which Flora had, 
the evening before, defended the rights of Roger’s 
unknown jiancSe. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


203 


She would have liked to take Flora in her arms, as 
she had in that solemn moment when her dying mother 
confided this little sister to her care. Sabine was 
deeply moved by this recollection that rushed over 
her at this moment. Why had it come to her ? 

Because Flora’s frightened, haggard eyes reminded 
her of those of her mother, when conscious that 
Death was near. 

One step, one word, would have brought these two 
hearts together. But this word Sabine could not pro- 
nounce. Her nature rebelled against all demonstrations 
of affection, and nature was stronger than her will. 
Slowly she turned away, suffering agony, but to all 
appearances colder, sterner, than ever. She found 
herself face to face with Roger, who was entering the 
room. He extended his hand to her, without seeing 
Flora, and said in an agitated voice : 

‘‘I have come to take leave of you — I join the 
Army to-night.” 

A fall, a stifled cry, and he rushed toward Flora, who 
lay on the floor unconscious. 


204 


sabine’s falsehood. 


CHAPTER XVL 

WAR. 

T he great caUcTie from Les Allais, was rolling 
majestically along the road leading from the 
Chateau to the church. On the box sat a coachman, 
bearded like a Pard, and by his side one of the farm- 
hands, elevated to the dignity of a footman, and clothed 
in a livery much too large for him. 

This was the manner in which the two old ladies 
and their nephew went to mass each Sunday. In the 
caUcJie sat Mademoiselle Ydoine, wearing a superb 
damask robe covered with large flowers ; a shawl of 
white china crepe^ and a hat with plumes, completed 
this toilette. In her hands, carefully gloved in black 
silk, she held a prayer-book — a precious family relic, 
that many a museum would have envied. She never 
used it, it was too precious for use, and in her pocket 
was the shabby, worn little volume, her daily compan- 
ion ; but not for all the gold in the world would she 
have failed to take with her to church, every Sunday, 
this illustrated missal. It was part of the family tradi- 
tions — and after her, Jacques’ wife would do the same. 

Mademoiselle Florimonde, with a sulky air, and 
hampered by her feminine garments, was seated by 
the side of her sister; opposite was Jacques, equally 
embarrassed by his black coat, tall hat and tight gloves. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


205 


He never opened his lips, and but for the perpetual, 
almost mechanical babble of his aunt Ydoine — which 
went on like the monotonous ticking of a clock through 
all family events, were they gay or sad — the drive 
would have been absolutely silent. Occasionally Ma- 
demoiselle Florimonde threw a furtive glance at her 
nephew, and then shook her head slowly, as much as 
to say: 

No, this will never do ! ” 

It was Jacques who, for the first time, was openly 
opposed to his aunts. Respect and habits of obedience 
alone prevented him from asserting himself. Jacques 
had all at once become a man. To the despair that 
overwhelmed him, when he realized that Flora was for- 
ever lost to him, had succeeded a profound disgust for 
the life he had led, and which appeared to him for the 
first time, useless and empty, unworthy of a man and 
a gentleman. 

And while he was struggling between his despair 
and his disgust, asking himself in what way he could 
conquer both, his fossil Journal brought him the intel- 
ligence of the declaration of War — intelligence that 
was then a week old. Almost at the same time one of 
those reports which inform people in villages, of the 
acts, looks and words of their neighbors, more quickly 
than of the changes in their Government, arrived at 
Les Allais. Monsieur de Bargemont had joined the 
army, and Mademoiselle Flora was ill of a fever which 
the country physician could not understand. 


206 


sabine’s falsehood 


Comments on these two pieces of news were perpet- 
ually on the lips of the old ladies at Les Allais, and 
they were far from pleasant ones since they could not 
forgive the young girl for the destruction of “their 
boy’s ” happiness. 

This double intelligence was to Jacques flashes of 
light by which he saw precisely what he ought to do. 
The blood of his ancestors stirred in his veins ; the 
recollection of the heroes whom he had envied and 
with whom he had peopled his imagination, passed like 
a brilliant mirage between the Future and himself. 

“ Why may I not go ? ” he asked himself. 

He did not think that this would be a distraction 
which might enable him to forget his disappointment- 
no — for he did not covet forgetfulness, he wished to 
carry with him to his grave, his love in all its 
freshness. “But,” he said to himself, “a soldier’s 
career was a noble one, and an aim for his empty life.” 

He foresaw the possibility of being left on the field 
of battle, with a bullet through his head; and to the 
gentle poet who had done little else than dream of 
heroic acts, as he passed the hawthorn hedge white 
with blossoms, or lay under silvery shadows of the 
weeping willows by the side of running waters, this 
picture was not a painful one. 

He was one day with his aunt Ydoine, the head of 
the family, and he said to her timidly and respectfully : 

“ I ask your permission to enter the army.” 

Mademoiselle des Allais had probably anticipated 


sabine’s falsehood. 


207 


this request, for she did not start. After a moment’s 
silence she said ; 

“ My dear boy, in other times, I, in your father’s 
name and in that of my own father, whose authority I 
represent, would have bidden you God speed, but now it 
is impossible. No des Allais can fight under the orders 
of the usurper, nor march under the tri-colored flag ! 
When repentant France calls back her legitimate Sov- 
ereign, you can go.” 

“France is threatened. Our country needs 
defenders. Do you think that the place of the des 
Allais should be vacant in the ranks as they march on 
to victory?” Jacques hastened to say. 

“ You are free, my dear boy. You will do, of course, 
as you choose, but if you go, I can neither sanction 
nor bless you.” 

And Jacques did not go. 

When Mademoiselle Florimonde was informed of 
what her sister had said, she entirely disapproved of it. 
The idea of seeing their boy come home crowned with 
laurels, carried her away entirely, and she thought her 
sister carried her hereditary loyalty too far, but with 
her too, the habits early inculcated, of absolute defer- 
ence and unquestioning obedience, prevented her from 
speaking. She was silent as well as Jacques. 

On the Sunday of which we write, Jacques was more 
than usually taciturn, for the news of the disasters of 
the French army had come one upon another — success- 
ive, stunning blows — as overwhelming and pitiless as 
the hail that ruins a fair harvest of green hopes. 


208 


sabii^e’s falsehood. 


It was then the first week of September. Coming 
out of church, Jacques saw a group of mournful peas- 
ants talking together in consternation. 

On the door of the church and on the wall where 
were usually to be seen the announcements of mar- 
riages and the edicts of the Mayor, a new bulletin 
appeared. It bore the date of Sedan and of September 
4th. Jacques read it, took his seat in the carriage, and 
never opened his lips until he and his Aunt Ydoine 
entered her boudoir. Carefully placing the old lady in 
a chair — she trembled like a leaf — he stood before her. 

Shall I go ? ” he asked. 

She answered without hesitation : 

“ Go — it is now your duty ! ” 

Mademoiselle Florimonde extended her hand to 
Jacques and pressed his with a gesture of approbation. 
Her consent was not asked, but she gave it with a full 
heart. 

Preparations for the immediate departure of Jacques 
occupied the remainder of the day. The two aged 
sisters dared not look at each other lest they should 
burst into tears, and invented a thousand pretences for 
incessant activity. 

At last the moment came, when Jacques’ valise was 
to be strapped, into which Mademoiselle Ydoine had 
surreptitiously slipped a bottle of JEau de Melisse^ and 
a box of pectoral lozenges, both of her own manu- 
facture. 

Afterwards they drew once more, around that family 


sabi^n'e’s falsehood. 209 

table from whence the dishes had so often been carried 
away, untouched, by the same old white-haired servant 
who had made for Jacques his first wooden sword, and 
Avho now asked to be allowed to go with his master. 

Once more they were united for the last time in that 
little boudoir where Mademoiselle Ydoine had passed 
so many hours of peaceful, careless happiness. 

It was a solemn moment. Mademoiselle Ydoine, 
pale with emotion, could find no further words in 
which to express her love and her fear. 

Jacques, resolute and calm, was in haste to depart. 
He feared a longer strain on these two aged creatures. 
He kneeled before them as he had done in his child- 
hood to say his prayers, and bent his head under the 
blessing earnestly pronounced by his aunt Ydoine. 
She fastened around his neck a medallion of enamelled 
gold, a precious jewel preserved in the family from time 
immemorial, and which she said would preserve him 
from all danger, or perish with him, the last of his race. 
Not a tear was shed by these two women, because 
valiant hearts beat in their breasts ; foolish and ridicu- 
lous as these old ladies appeared, they were imbued 
with the noble traditions of Family and Faith. 

It was their very life, their one joy and their only 
hope, now leaving them : but they did not dream for a 
moment of holding him back. When they saw him 
disappear down the avenue, when he -turned to kiss 
his hand to them for the last time, they fell into each 
other’s arms with sobs and tears. 

13 


210 


sabike’s falsehood. 


Jacques was no longer there, there was no danger of 
augmenting his grief by allowing him to see that they 
were weeping. 

Jacques went away on foot. His slender luggage 
had gone on in advance, and awaited him at the 
station. 

He had told his aunts that he preferred to walk, but 
he had not told them the whole truth. 

When he reached the little wood, he turned abruptly 
to the left, and directed his steps towards the Chateau 
de la Rulli^re. The sun, red as blood, was slowly 
dropping behind the violet hills, leaving in his track long 
lines of gold on the pale, azure sky. A soft autumnal 
haze floated in the warm air. The gossamer web known 
as the fils de la Vierge clung to the branches of the pine 
trees ; partridges and thrushes fled into the thorn bushes 
and under the tall broom. The purple bunches on the 
vines were beginning to ripen. 

“ It will not be I who will oversee the vintage, this 
year,” thought Jacques. Poor dear souls I How 
will my aunts manage it alone ! ” 

He shook his long fair hair, as if to drive away 
thoughts which should enfeeble his resolution, and 
began to evoke the remembrance of the heroes of his 
youth, with whom he had so often roamed this same 
path. He could not hope to realize all those chivalric 
chimeras which once peopled his imagination. He could 
at least, however, imitate the heroism of the Cavaliers, 
the intrepid courage of the Paladins. Did he not bear 


s A bine’s falsehood. 


211 


on his breast the relic of his ancestor, Jacques, who at 
the head of a handful of heroes, fought a whole Saracen 
army. He would cover himself with glory as he had 
done, and would come back — 

He stopped short, extended his arms in a helpless, 
pitiful sort of Avay, like a child whose unwary foot 
has stumbled upon a stone — and sinking on the turf, 
he groaned : 

“ Come back ! And to what ? I have neither wife 
nor child to welcome me ! If I return, it will only be 
to live over again all this misery and despair, for she 
will never love me ! ” 

When he had controlled his emotion, he rose to. his 
feet, and leaning against a tree, looked back, long and 
lovingly, on that ancestral home, wherein so many 
peaceful years had serenely glided away. He bade the 
Chateau a solemn farewell, determining never to see it 
again. His vras an adieu as eternal as that which he 
was about to take of her who had been his first, and 
would remain his only love. 

Flora was alone when he was shown into the salon. 
She had been face to face with Death, and looked like 
a being faltering on the threshold of eternity. Her 
soul seemed fiuttering between that better world, which 
she had nearly reached, and this diaphanous body con- 
sumed by fever. 

She had spoken the truth to „Roger, when she told 
him that she was not strong enough to endure a great 
grief. 


212 


sabine’s falsehood. 


When Jacques, who had not seen her since her 
illness, beheld her, half lying in her deep chair, sup- 
ported by cushions, he uttered a cry of anguish ; and 
kneeling at her side, gently took her hand. 

How you have suffered,” he murmured. 

She looked at him intently — compassionately — almost 
with tenderness. His eyes bore traces of the tears he 
had shed in the pine grove. 

‘‘ And you, my poor friend ? ” she said. 

‘‘Never mind me!” and he did his best to smile. 
“ All that is over, Flora — I came to bid you farewell — 
I am going away.” 

“ Going away I ” she cried, with a start. “ You too I ” 
“ I, too I ” he repeated, and then in a lower voice, he 
added : — 

“ But I, alas I do not carry your heart with me I ” 
“Ah! you know!” she murmured. “But I never 
meant to make any mystery of it. I thought, on the 
contrary, that it would be less painful to you to learn 
the secret of my heart by degrees, as I discovered it 
myself. 

“ Oh ! Jacques, why could I not have loved you ? I 
ought to have contented myself with the sincere affec- 
tion and esteem I felt for you. It is perhaps your fault 
that these did not suffice me. You thought then that 
there were heights I had not attained — aglow and fire 
that I knew not, and now that this fire has reached me, 
I am burned in its flames. You see Jacques, I speak to 
you as to a brother. You might have saved me, why 


saline’s falsehood. 


213 


did you not tell me in the beginning that Sabine 
and—” 

^ She hesitated — her parched lips refused to pronounce 
""Roger’s name. 

“And” — she continued, hoarsely, “and Monsieur de 
Bargemont were engaged ? ” 

“Why?” answered Jacques, “simply because Sabine 
forbade my doing so.” 

“Sabine forbade you! And why? For what 
reason ? ” 

“From the most subline unselfishness — from the 
most disinterested tenderness — from the desire to 
secure your happiness by sacrificing herself.” 

“Alas! Jacques, you are mistaken. She must have 
had some other reason. Can I believe in a tenderness 
that never passed her lips ? I have always been a care 
and a burthen to her, until the day that I involuntarily 
became a curse.” 

“ Sabine,” she continued, in a trembling voice, 
“Sabine hates me; it is only natural since I have 
stolen her happiness from her — a happiness that is 
slowly killing me, but no matter — I would not ex- 
change a single one of those blissful hours for a long 
life of peace without love ! ” 

Suddenly recollecting herself, she said: 

“ I am very cruel to talk to you in this way ! And 
you are going away then, Jacques ? And your poor 
aunts ? ” 

“ Ah ! child. Don’t take away my courage,” and he 


214 


sabine’s falsehood. 


caught his breath with a sob. “ Flora, I am going to 
the battle field, I could not go without seeing you 
again. I wish to take an eternal farewell of you, and 
to say once more that I have never loved any woman 
but yourself, and shall never love any one else. 

‘‘ Do not be troubled, petite^^^ he continued, and his 
faint smile was not without a tinge of bitterness. 

‘‘ I expect nothing, and I ask nothing — I know too 
well that I have no chance. But you, sweet one, have 
realized my ideal, and I wish to thank you for it. 
Since you have not chosen to bear my name, and to 
take the place at my hearthstone consecrated to you, no 
other woman shall. My family and my name dies with 
me. If I never return, my end will be a worthy one. 
If I am spared — w^ell, child, I can only say if I am 
spared, I will come to you, and beg you to tell me how 
I may worthily spend the remainder of my life. 

Farewell, Flora. Pray for me ! ” 

Flora burst into tears as he closed the door. 

When Sabine had finished reading to her father that 
evening — and no human being ever knew the agony, 
the ever-recurring agony that nightly reading was to 
her — she went as usual to Flora, to ascertain that she 
had all she required, and to exchange a formal good 
night, which was always expressed in precisely the 
same words. 

Flora was weeping. Sabine turned away, pretending 
not to see these tears. It wrung the heart of the elder 
sister to see the persistent sadness that weighed down 


SABINE'S FALSEHOOD. 


215 


this young and once joyous creature, but she resolutely 
crushed down all emotion which should tear away the 
icy mask behind which she hid her own despair. 

Sabine,” said Flora, softly, Jacques has been here, 
he came to say farewell. He has gone to join the 
army.” 

Sabine looked at her sister with the bewildered gaze 
of a person who does not understand what is said. 

Jacques gone ! Jacques ! the devoted friend on 
whom she counted as on the fidelity of a dog. Jacques, 
whom she had seen, almost every day of her life — who 
made a part of it in fact, as much as the pieces of 
furniture by which she was surrounded. Jacques! 
whose discreet sympathy released her from all need of 
putting her confidences into words — he, the only 
human being who understood her, and yet who never 
asked her a question, so well did he understand the 
meaning of her very silence ! Jacques was gone I 

It was the beginning of the desertion, she said to 
herself, the beginning, the frightful solitude in which 
the remainder of her life would be spent, in which her 
existence would come to an end. Roger was lost to 
her! She had no Future — her Past and all its tender 
recollections and associations was profaned, and Flora 
was d3dng ! 

“ My God ! My God ! ” she cried, aloud. And 
Sabine, who had never been able to weep, burst into 
convulsive sobs. 

A gleam of hope and of joy irradiated Flora’s pale 


216 sabine's falsehood. 

face. Sabine, with head erect and tearless eyes, had 
seen Roger go away — not one complaint had escaped 
her lips, and now Jacques’ departure brought down a 
torrent of tears. Did she love him after all ? 

Flora, tender and expansive by nature, was ignorant 
of one great mj^stery of the human heart. It is not 
the tempest that brings death to the plants in our 
garden, notwithstanding the pelting rain and the light- 
ning flashes. The storm passes over, and the birds sing 
— the butterflies flutter once more in the soft air — the 
buds expand and the roses hang their dewy' heads — 
but, in the silence of the night, the frost gnaws with 
his cruel teeth the last blossoms. The eye has seen 
nothing, the ear has heard nothing, but Death has done 
his pitiless work. In the morning, only blackened 
petals and broken stalks remain. 

Flora had seen the storm pass ; she had seen Sabine 
weep as she had wept herself. The grief that expressed 
itself like hers must of necessity be the strongest — 
and this childish heart did not suspect the existence 
of the sombre • despair that was eating Sabine’s very 
heart away, slowly and silently, as the fox devoured 
the entrails of the Spartan boy. 


SABINE S FALSEHOOD 


217 


CHAPTER XVIL 


A MODERN HERO 


ACQUES was a hero. Not a hero like those who 



tf had formerly haunted his dreams — not one of 
those brilliant creatures, whose feats of arms were 
talked of in fhe army and at the Court. His gallant 
deeds won no spurs of knighthood — there were no 
giants for him to slay with shining lance ; but he was 
one of those pale and silent heroes who, ill clothed and 
ill fed, without bread, and without ammunition, endured 
their privations, with silent discouragement dragging 
them down, each day retreating foot by foot before an 
enemy an hundred times stronger than themselves, who 
three quarters of the time w’ere invisible and unap- 
proachable, and whose wondrous projectiles seemed to 
fall from heaven itself. 

At each turn of the road, at each new path, he left a 
hope — a last illusion. His poor chimeras deserted 
him one by one, as the thorns and briars despoil the 
lamb of his fleece as he is led to the slaughter. It 
was toward death that he resolutely marched. He had 
determined to die on the fleld of battle, and Death 
seemed to find it an amusing game, to spare this life 
which thus offered itself, and took from his very side 
men who were bound to earth by every tie that could 
make life dear. 


218 


sabine’s falsehood. 


Jacques saw his brothers in arms fall, on the right 
and the left, and his eyes filled with bitter tears of 
regret that he, with his useless life, could not purchase 
that of one of these unknown companions, who left 
mothers, widows and orphans to mourn them. He 
addressed ardent prayers to God the Father, asking 
for death, not in the impious spirit of the suicide who, 
weary of existence, takes his release into his own 
hands — but like the martyr, who burns to shed his 
blood in a noble cause, and regards this earth as an 
altar, on which his poor body may be offered up as a 
sacrifice. 

One dreary December day, the detachment to which 
he belonged had been compelled to evacuate a village. 
The cold was intense, the snow deep, and covered, alas I 
with stains of blood. They had defended, with the 
heroism that marked many of these isolated skirm- 
ishes, house after house, until on the outskirts, 
Jacques found himself left in a hut alone. His last 
cartridge was gone. Bullets had broken all the 
windows, pierced the fragile walls, and laid his com- 
panions on the ground at his side, as the hurricane 
brings down the grain. He alone was left standing. 
Was it the talisman of his ancestor that was his 
buckler and shield? This was the question Jacques 
asked himself. 

Now there was nothing for him to do, but to make 
his way through the deep snow to a forest, where he 
knew he should find those of his companions who had 
been spared by Death. 


sabine’s falsehood. 


219 


But when he wished to leave the hut, he found that 
it had but one door, opening directly on the village 
street, now crowded with the enemy. To open 
that door was, of course, to surrender himself as a 
prisoner. Jacques was willing to give up life, but not 
liberty. He remembered that at the moment of the 
attack, the owner of the hut had retreated to tho cellar. 

‘‘I will join him,” thought Jacques, ‘‘and when 
night comes I will make my escape.” 

He found the peasant trembling with cold and fear. 
Jacques reassured him in regard to his own personal 
safety, and asked him to lend him some clothes, in 
which he would of course have a better chance of 
escape than if he wore his uniform. He even advised 
the peasant to show himself, telling him that he would 
be safe. At twilight the man came and divided his 
loaf of brown bread with him. He brought sad news — 
descriptions of those tragedies which follow in the 
train of war as a flock of crows flutter around carrion. 
He had seen the dead heaped up in front of the houses 
and in the courtyard of the Mairie. Ambulances were 
going about, and the women of the village Avere emerg- 
ing from their concealment like spectres; driven forth 
by hunger, they had found their homes demolished, 
their fields ravished, and their furniture broken. One 
of the houses of the village had been set on fire by the 
owner. 

“ How was that? ” asked Jacques reluctantly, for he 
was weary of hearing of all these woes which he could 
not ameliorate. 


220 


SABINE'S FALSEHOOD. 


It was the old story, repeated over and over again, 
of the man exasperated by ruin, blinded by hatred, 
who, thinking that his wife and the mother of his child- 
ren had been insulted, set fire to his house, after fast- 
ening up every outlet. Two officers had been billeted 
upon him. Such a crime deserved a summary punish- 
ment. The criminal could not be found. Six peasants 
belonging to his village were to be shot. 

The criminal at once surrendered himself. 

The lamentations of his informant told Jacques that 
a young widow and five orphans would be left without 
support and without bread. 

Jacques reflected. 

“ At what hour will he be shot ? ” he asked. . 

‘‘ At dawn. He is shut into the church now with 
the Cure. He did not run away because he was afraid 
— he surrendered himself — but then to be sure the 
door is guarded.” 

Jacques thanked the peasant, and wrapped in the 
cloak the good man lent him, he opened the door and 
went out, soon disappearing in the darkness, the 
fast falling snow quickly effacing tlie marks of his 
footsteps. 

In the church, the condemned, with his brain on fire 
and his heart full of bitterness, lay on a bench with his 
eyes closed, pretending to be asleep that he might not 
hear the words of this Priest who had baptised him, 
who had taught him all he knew both of morals and 
religion, and who now spoke to liiin of piirdon, repent- 


Sabine’s falsehood. 221 

ance and resignation, while he craved blood and 
vengeance. 

The Priest knelt on the damp stones, his white hair 
nearly touching the ground as he, half supported by a 
pillar and exhausted by all the emotions of this terrible 
day, had fallen asleep. The condemned suddenly 
started up, for a hand was laid upon his shoulder. 

With uplifted finger imposing silence, he saw a man, 
young and yellow-haired like himself, standing before 
him. The unknown pointed to an open window and a 
ladder placed against it. 

‘‘You know that it opens on the Cure’s garden,” he 
whispered, “ hasten and make your escape.” 

The peasant did not move. 

“ To-morrow morning if I am not here,” he said in a 
hollow voice, “ six of my comrades will be shot in my 
stead.” 

“ They will find some one here in your place, do not 
be troubled,” said the unknown. “ Give me your 
clothes, and take mine. Besides, it was quite dark 
when you were arrested — ” 

“ Do you mean — ” stammered the man, with a vague 
comprehension of what his companion intended, 

“ Hush ! ” said the stranger, pointing to the sleeping 
Priest. 

At dawn a squad of soldiers came for the condemned. 
He followed them with haughty bearing. At his side 
walked the Priest, trembling with age and emotion. 
In descending the stone steps of the church he 
stumbled. 


222 


sabine’s falsehood. 


‘‘Lean on my arm, Monsieur Le Cur^,” said the con- 
demned, “ I have not had time like yourself to grow 
white in the service of the Lord.” 

The cemetery was deserted, the black crosses on the 
graves was all that marred the immaculate purity of 
the scene. No human being in the village, not even 
one of those wretched gamins to be found almost 
everywhere, had the courage to witness the death of 
one of themselves. 

Consequently there was no one who could denounce 
the heroic fraud. A victim was needed ; he was there ! 

When the cortege reached the cemetery and the 
officer placed his men in line, the condemned knelt 
before the Cur^. 

“ My son, once more I must ask you your motive for 
the sacrifice of a life for which God has not yet 
asked ? ” 

“ To save a fellow creature, and to redeem by my 
death the uselessness of my life.” 

“ My son, do you forgive ? ” 

“ W ith all my heart, as I hope to be forgiven.” 

The Priest raised his trembling hand and pronounced 
a last benediction. 

The condemned rose to his feet, uncovered his breast 
on which blazed a reliquary of gold and enamel. He 
stood for a moment, his tall form erect, and the rising 
sun gilding his tawny beard and hair. 

“ In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy 
Ghost ! ” he murmured. 


SABINES FALSEHOOD 


223 


He fell, shot through the heart. 

When, through his tears and the smoke which drifted 
slowly away, the P * ' " " ' ’ 



thing, he dragged 


ground. He knelt on\the blood-stained snow and 
kissed the feet of the unkaown as Christians in past 
days kissed the feet of their martyred brothers. 

With his own hands the Cur^ dug a grave in the 
half frozen ground, for this stranger who had never 
told his name, and had only asked that he might 
be buried with the medallion that he wore about his 
neck. A ball had shattered it. The relic of Jacques 
des Allais had disappeared with his last descendant. 


224 


sabine's falsehood. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

SNOW AND ROSES. 

I N the garden at Les Allais the roses that Jacques 
had so dearly loved, bloomed that year as abund- 
antly as if he had watched over them. Their fragrance 
was as sweet — the ingrates — their color as rich ! We 
cover Nature’s maternal breast with ruins and dead 
bodies, and she pitifully and tenderly labors on until 
she has piled snow and roses upon them. 

Flora was dying. Sabine, at war with herself and 
all about her, seemed to have petrified into stone, 
but this was only in appearance. Monsieur de La 
Rulli^re, exasperated by the ravages made on his 
estate by large bodies of troops on their march, lost all 
consciousness of the Present, all memory of the Past. 
Mademoiselle Ydoine had taken refuge in absolute 
silence, seeming to have lost the faculty of speech ; her 
sister was weighed down by a suspense more difficult to 
bear than a certain woe. The warm breath of spring 
vainly attempted to revive these withered stalks, but 
the attempt was useless. 

News from Jacques, which came at first with 
astonishing regularity, directly from himself, suddenly 
failed. 

Sabine dared not question her aged friends, and on 


sabiiste's falsehood. 


225 


Sundays at mass turned her head away, that she might 
not see the sad and resigned expression of their pale 
faces. They did their best to smile, determined not to 
admit that they were discouraged, and had almost lost 
hope. 

Mademoiselle Ydoine wore the brightest colors and 
gayest flowers on her hat, that no one might suppose 
her to be wearing mourning for her boy. She said to 
her sister that he might be wounded or a prisoner. 

At last there came a day when this silence could no 
longer be explained. All communications were again 
established; alb the men of the district spared by 
the fortunes of war, returned to their homes, but 
Jacques was not among them. 

Once or twice the journals had made honorable 
mention of Roger. He had entered Paris with the 
troops, he had covered himself with glory, his courage 
and early military education having given him an 
elevated position. He was living, but he had not 
returned to La Rulliere. 

Flora did not expect him and was resigned, but each 
day she lost a little of her strength, and her thin 
cheeks assumed that hectic flush more dangerous in its 
indications than any pallor. 

‘‘Is it my fault?” Sabine asked herself one day, 
with sudden terror. “ Is it because of me, that this 
child is dying, and might not a word from me save 
her?” 


14 


226 


sabine’s falsehood. 


She went over to Les Allais and said to the old 
ladies : 

“ I am going away for a few days, and I shall bring 
you news of Jacques when I return. You are both 
too well advanced in years to undertake the journey.” 

To her father she said abruptly : 

I am going to Paris. Take care of Flora while I 
am away. Don’t interfere with my accounts, for you 
will disarrange everything. On my return I will 
attend to all the work.” 

At Paris, she went directly to the Minister of War, 
and had no difficulty in obtaining information in regard 
to Jacques des Allais. It was not very detailed, but it 
was precise. He had fallen in the defence of a village, 
the name of which was given her. He must have per- 
ished there, although his body was never recovered. 
This was not so very astonishing however, as the 
number of dead was so great that haste was required 
in their burial. 

The next day she knocked at the door of the 
Presbytery in this distant village. The old Cur^ had 
succumbed to the emotions of these terrible days. The 
young Priest who had succeeded him, struck by the 
sombre expression of this woman, who came tearless 
and resolute to question these tombs, spoke to her 
gently of Christian resignation, of the tears which we 
may be permitted to shed at the recollection of those 
who were dear to us, and of the consolations which 


SABI^q^E’s FALSEHOOD. 227 

remain even in this world, to those whom Death has 
robbed of their beloved. 

Sabine looked at him with frowning brows : 

“ And to those who do not choose to weep,” she said, 
“to those who cannot lift their eyes to Heaven and 
behold there their dead, but who must every day of 
their lives see face to face a dead hope — to them I ask, 
what remains? ” 

“ God above, charity on earth,” said the Priest. “To 
those whom no earthly tenderness can console, God 
offers His love.” 

Sabine looked at him intently, then drawing her vail 
over her face followed the Priest in silence. 

He led her to the cemetery where had been buried 
all the obscure heroes mown down by war. She saw a 
cluster of daisies blooming on a grave surmounted by 
a cross without a name. 

Touched by the Priest’s words and softened by an 
emotion that only led her to install Christian resigna- 
tion in place of her pagan virtue of stoicism, she leaned 
over the fresh young grass growing on this grave, and 
gathering one of the daisies, a tear fell upon the others. 
She passed on without suspecting that she had dropped 
a tear on the grave of Jacques des Allais. 


228 


sabine’s falsehood. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

ALONE. 

A fter Sabine’s departure, Flora made an exertion 
to shake off the torpor which wrapped her 
physically and mentally. She tried to occupy herself, 
to take Sabine’s place with her father, but her physical 
strength failed, and she sank back more exhausted, but 
also more resigned than before — it was strength and 
not courage in which she was deficient. 

Sabine did not write ; no one was astonished, for she 
had warned them that she should herself bring all the 
intelligence she could get together. 

Flora waited for her without impatience, with 
neither hope nor fear. She was much happier in the 
absence of her sister, whose stern coldness was a per- 
petual reproach to her. Besides, what had she to 
expect from Sabine’s return ! Her life was finished ! 

One evening, she was watching the last rays of the 
setting sun. She heard a carriage. 

Sabine ! she thought. But she had not strength to 
go out to meet her sister, and folding her hands, she 
waited. 

But when the door opened, she uttered a cry of 
passionate joy: 

“ Roger ! ” 


sabine’s falsehood. 


229 


She fell into the arms he extended. 

My child ! my treasure ! my life ! ” he exclaimed. 

He trembled with emotion as he bent over the pale 
little face Avhich sought to hide itself on his breast. 

So pale, so weak ! ” he murmured, ‘‘and all for me ! 
but you will revive. Flora ! I bring you love and 
health and happiness. I am free — free to love, and to 
live at your side.” 

“ Sabine ? ” questioned Flora. 

“ Sabine is here. It is she who has brought me back 
to you. She has done wonders in finding me, for I 
thought I had covered all my traces. She came to me 
on board the ship in which I had taken my passage to 
America, for I had followed your advice, my beloved; 
I fled from you, since we could not be happy without 
breaking the heart of the woman who I supposed had 
loved me long and faitlifully. Sabine has told me the 
truth. She has loved Monsieur des Allais for a long 
time.” 

“ I knew it ! ” cried Flora. 

“ When I saw Sabine coming, I at first believed that 
Fate had pursued me. I accused her in my thoughts 
of wishing to compel me to fulfill a promise which I 
had come to regard as odious fetters, but I was mista- 
ken. She on the contrary, came to liberate me ! She 
has been entirely frank, — says she did not dare speak to 
me of her love for Monsieur des Allais, being withheld 
by the consciousness of having broken her promises 
to me. 


230 


sabike’s falsehood. 


“She received me coldlj^ on my return,” continued 
Monsieur de Bargemont, “wishing to make me under- 
stand that I had become a stranger to her. Then, 
when she saw that we loved each other, she was 
relieved. She forbade Monsieur des Allais telling you 
that we were engaged, which was the same as telling 
him that she considered herself free. This amounted 
to an avowal on her part. He did not understand her 
however. He is dead, Flora.” 

“ Alas ! I foresaw this. Poor Sabine ! ” 

“ Poor Sabine ! ” repeated Roger. “ One comfort is, 
that her sufferings do not come from us, however; and 
we can be happy, without any sense of guilt, when we 
meet her eyes.” 

They believed all this, and while they talked of their 
love and their Future, a dark shadow glided into the 
growing obscurity of the room, but it was unseen and 
Sabine was forgotten. 

She had the courage to hasten Flora’s marriage, to 
occupy herself personally with all the preparations as 
their mother would have done, had she been living. 
She did not falter for one moment, nor did she utter 
one complaint or feel one tinge of bitterness. 

Those who had not seen her since her journey recog- 
nized her with difficulty. Her hair was almost white, 
an expression of gentle resignation relaxed the rigid 
muscles, and her melancholy eyes were almost tender 
in their sweetness. 

Sabine’s haughtiness had vanished forever. She had 


sabine’s falsehood. 


231 


told a falsehood, and remorse and humiliation had 
crushed all the pride out of her hitherto spotless con- 
science. She never realized that her falsehood was 
pathetic and sublime. She merely felt she was degraded 
by her perversion of the truth. Wlien the Demoiselle 
des Allais acquired the certainty of the death of their 
child, they clothed themselves in the deepest mourning. 
This was the only difference in their lives ; their 
sacrifice was already accepted. 

One morning. Mademoiselle Ydoine was found in 
her gothic chair in front of her fire which had gone 
out. She slept her last sleep. 

Her sister caused her to be interred in the cemetery 
where lay all the Des Allais, save the last of his name, 
and then she busied herself in executing Ydoine’s last 
wishes. The Chateau was transformed into an asylum 
for the orphans made by the war, and several Sisters 
were installed there to manage it. To this charity was 
given all the family wealth, and these estates whicli, 
from time immemorial, had belonged to them, could 
never pass into the hands of strangers. 

Monsieur de La Rulliere was never able to clearly 
understand which of his two daughters it was, who 
married Monsieur de Bargemont. Sabine had great 
difficulty in making him believe that it was Flora. 

His strong constitution seemed to grow stronger, 
as his mind grew weaker. The saddest old age was 
his, that which wearies the patience and the tenderness 
of those who are about us, and leaves only the senti- 
ment of Duty. 


232 sabine’s falsehood. 

Sabine knew that this robust old man would, in all 
probability, long survive his faded faculties, and that 
she would be the sole companion of his declining years. 

Flora and Roger established themselves in Paris, 
after a winter spent in Southern France had restored 
Flora to health and strength. Under the influence of 
happiness, the fragile young creature revived as a 
flower after a storm revives in the sunshine. 

When Sabine saw the carriage which took them 
away, roll down the avenue, she went back into the 
great empty Cliateaii — the Chateau where she and her 
father were now to live together to the end of his days, 
shut away from the rest of the world. 

Monsieur de la Rulliere, although his mental facul- 
ties were impaired, liad retained all his physical 
activity, which now amounted to restlessness. He 
wandered from room to room, and all over the estate, 
requiiing as constant supervision and vigilance, as if 
he had been a child. 

Sabine’s heart fell — a dull dead weight — as she looked 
at him. Her soul, for a moment, was filled with a 
sense of utter discouragement. She went toward the 
stairs, eager for the rest and seclusion of her own room 
— eager in fact to be alone, where she could weep her 
very heart away, and shed those tears unseen which 
now came unbidden to her eyes. 

Where are you going now ? ” asked her father, 
fretfully. “Thank Heaven that they have gone at 
last! Heaven be praised for that blessing! I hope 


sabine’s falsehood. 


233 


now all this uproar will be calmed down, and we 
can live in comfort once more. I never knew such 
• confusion in my life ! It is enough to craze one and to 
try th(? ])atience of a saint. Weill well! It is all over 
with now. But it will begin again by and by, I sup- 
pose ? Your fiance will be coming home, and then 
we shall have it all over, for you will be wanting to have 
another wedding. But no ! I have an idea. That wed- 
ding may as well take place at Les Allau^ and in honor 
of your marriage, I will plough up that foolish garden, 
of which that idiot Jacques is so fond, and before long 
we may hope to see potatoes growing there, for the 
soil is good, yes, very good indeed! ” he muttered. 

‘‘Now,” he continued, “take this magazine, and read 
this article from beginning to end. Remember, I won’t 
have any cheating about it. Don’t skip one word. You 
will probably find it very amusing, too, for it is all 
about the new potato disease. Read distinctly and 
slowly. Don’t drop your voice. I have noticed lately 
that somehow your voice has lost all its ring. It sounds 
flat and lifeless, and as dreary as if you were preaching 
a funeral sermon ! ” 

Sabine, took the magazine, and resolutely, with firm, 
unwavering voice, read the article on the new potato 
disease from beginning to end without the omission of 
a word. 

“Is there anything else you would like to hear?” 
she asked, as she finished. 

There was no reply ; her father was aslee23. She 


234 


sabine’s falsehood. 


glided from the room, entered her chamber, closed and 
locked the door behind her. Then extinguishing her 
lamp and going to the window, she looked out on the 
dark and starless sky, wringing her hands in her 
despair. 

They are happy ! ” she murmured, they are 
happy ! They were all I had, and now I have nothing 
left ! ” 

Then suddenly, she dropped on her knees, stretched 
her imploring, eager hands toward Heaven, and prayed 
to Almighty God. 

‘‘ Pardon me,” she cried in her agony, ‘‘ forgive me ! 
oh, Lord, my God ! ” 

These words she repeated over and over again. 
Finally, she murmured in softer tones: 

‘‘ Take not Thy love from me ! I know only too 
well, that my falsehood must be expiated ! ” 


THE END. 


CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 

PUBLISHED BY 

T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS, 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

And for sale by all Booksellers. 

Any of the hooks named in this Catalogue, will 
be sent by mail, to any one, to any place, at once, 
post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted to 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 



T. B. PETERSON and BROTHERS’ NEW BOOKS. 


toLE ZOLA’S NEW EEALISTIC WOEKS. 

Nana ! Sequel to L’Assommoir. Emile Zola. Nana ! Price 76 cents 
in paper cover, or $1 .00 in morocco cloth, black and gold. Nana ! 

Nana's Mother; or, L’Assommoir. By Emile Zola. The Greatest Novel 
ever printed. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth. 

Therese Raquin. By Emile Zola^ author of ^^Nana," L'Assommoir,” 
etc. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth, black and gold. 
La Cur6e. By Emile Zoluy author of Nana,” and L'Assommoir.” 

Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth, black and gold. 
Magdalen Ferat. By Emile ^o^a, author of Nana,” and ‘^L'Assom- 
moir.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 
Clorinda; or, The Court of Napoleon III., during his Reign. By Emile 
Zola. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 
Albine ; or. The Abbe's Temptation. (La Faute Be BAbhe Mouret.) By 
Emile Zola. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 
Helene, a Love Episode; or, Une Page D* Amour. By Emile Zola. 

Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 
The Rougon-Macquart Family ; or, Miette. (La Fortune Bee Rougon.) 

By Emile Zola. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

The Markets of Paris ; or, Le Ventre de Paris. By Emile Zola. Price 
75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in morocco cloth, black and gold. 

The Conquest of Plassans ; or, La Conquete de Plassans. By Emile Zola* 
Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth, black and gold. 

SEaUEL TO “NANA.” NANA’S DATJGHTEE. 

Nana's Daughter. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile Zola's Great 
Realistic Novel of Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

HENEY GE^IVILLE’S PATHETIC NOVELS. 

Xeuie's Inheritance. A Tale of Russian Life. By Henry Gr5ville. 
Saveli's Expiation. A Powerful Novel. By Henry Gr6ville. 

Dournof. A Russian Story. By Henry Gr6viile, author of Dosia.” 
Lucie Rodey. A Charming Society Novel. By Henry Gr^ville. 
Bonne-Marie. A Tale of Normandy and Paris. By Henry Gr^ville. 

A Friend ; or, L'Ami.” By Henry Greville, author of “ Dosia.” 

Sonia. A Love Story. By Henry Greville, author of Dosia.” 
Gabrielle; or. The House of Maureze. By Henry Greville. 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 
Dosia. A Russian Story. By Henry Griville, author of “ Markof,” 

The Trials of Raissa. By Henry Orevilley author of Dosia.” 

The Princess Ogherof. A Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Philom^ne's Marriages. A Love Story. By Henry Greville. 

Pretty Little Countess Zina. By Henry Griville^ author of *‘Do?ia,” 
Marrying Off a Daughter. A Love Story. By Henry Griville. 

Above are in paper cover, price 75 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.25 each. 
Markof, the Russian Violinist. A Russian Story. By Henry Greville. 
One large volume, 12mo., cloth, price $1.50, or paper cover, 75 cents. 


1^ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Priee^ 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (A) 


T. B. PETERSON m BROT HERS’ NEW BOORS. 

HW BOOKS— HAJOE JONES’S COBETSHIP, ETC. 

The Bridal Eve; or, Rose Elmer. By Mrs. Southworth. Paper, 75 cents. 
Paul Hart; or, The Love of His Life. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Monsieur, Madame, and the Baby. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Exiles. The Russian ‘ Robinson Crusoe.* Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Mildred's Cadet; or, Hearts and Bell-Buttons. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Major Jones’s Courtship. 21 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Bellah. A Love Story. By Octave Feuillet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Sabine’s Falsehood. A Love Story. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Vidocq ! The French Detective. Illustrated. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
Camille; or. The Fate of a Coquette. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 

My Hero. A Love Story. By Mrs. Forrester. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1.00. 
Linda ; or. The Young Pilot of the Belle Creole. Paper, 75 cts., cloth, $1 .25. 
Madame Bovary. By Gustave Flaubert. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Count de Camors. Bi/ Octave Feuillet. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
How She Won Him ! A Love Story. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
Angele’s Fortune. By Andr6 Theuriet. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 
St. Maur; or. An Earl’s Wooing. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 

The Woman in Black. Illustrated Cover. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 
The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P. May, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 

PETERSONS’ SQUARE 12mo. SERIES. 

The following books are all printed on tinted paper, and are each issued in 
uniform style, in square ^2mo. form. Price Fifty Cents each in Paper 
Cover, or $1.00 each in Morocco Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The History of a Parisienne. Octave Feuillet’s new and greatest work. 
Raney Cottem’s Courtship. By author of “ Major Jones’s Courtship.*' 
Fanchon, the Cricket ; or. La Petite Fadette. By George Sand. 

Father Tom and the Pope; or, A Night at the Vatican. Illustrated. 

The Story of Elizabeth. By Miss Thackeray, daughter of AV. M. Thackeray. 
A Woman’s Mistake; or, Jacques de Trevannes. A Charming Love Story. 
Bessie’s Six Lovers. A Charming Love Story. By Henry Peterson. 

Two AVays to Matrimony; or. Is it Love? or. False Pride. 

The Matchmaker. By Beatrice Reynolds, A Charming Love Story. 

The Days of Madame Pompadour. By Gabrielle De St. Andre. 
Madeleine. A Charming Love Story. Jules Sandeau’s Prize Novel. 
Carmen. By Prosper Merimee. Book the Opera was dramatized from. 
The Amours of Philippe ; or, Philippe’s Love Affairs, by Octave Feuillet. 
The Little Countess. By Octave Feuillet, author of “ Count De Camors.” 
Sybil Brotherton. A Novel. By Mrs. Emma D. E, N. Southworth. 

The Red Hill Tragedy. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 

The American L’Assommoir. A parody on Zola’s L’Assommoir.” 

Hyde Park Sketches. A very humorous and entertaining work. 

Miss Margery’s Roses. A Charming Love Story. By Robert C. Meyers. 
Madame Pompadour’s Garter. A Romance of the Reign of Louis XV, 
That Girl of Mine. By the author of “ That Lover of Mine.” 

That Lover of Mine. By the author of That Girl of Mine.” 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or $1.00 each in cloth. 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (B) 


T. B. PETERSON a»d BROTHERS' NEW BOOKS. 


IDOLPHE BELOrS INGENIOttS NOVELS. i 

The Black Venus. Adolphe Belot. Paper cover, 75 cents, cloth, 

La Grande Florine. By Adolphe Belot. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.1' . 
The Stranglers of Paris. By Adolphe Belot, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.0i* 

MRS. BURNETT’S CHARMING STORIES. ! 

Kathleen. A Love Story. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

Theo. A Love Story. By author of ‘‘ Kathleen,^^ Miss Crespigny," eto. 
Pretty Polly Pemberton. By author of Kathleen,” Theo,” etc. 

A Quiet Life. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett, author of “ Theo.” 
Miss Crespigny. A Charming Love Story. By author of Kathleen.” 

Above are in paper cover, price 50 cents each, or in cloth, at $1.00 each. 
JarPs Daughter and Other Tales. By Mrs. Burnett. Price 25 cents. 
Lindsay’s Luck. By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Price 25 cents. 

NEW AND GOOD WORKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

A Heart Twice Won; or. Second Love. A Love Story. By Mr$, 
heth Van Loon. Morocco cloth, black and gold. Price $1.50. 

The Mystery of Allanwold. A Thrilling Novel. By Mrs. Elizabeth Vem 
Loon, author of “A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50. 
Under the Willows; cr. The Three Countesses. By Mrs. EHz'fheih Van 
Loon, author of ‘*A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth, and gold. Price $1.50, 
The Shadow of Hampton Mead. A Charming Story. By Mrs. Elizabeth 
Van Loon, author of ‘‘A Heart Twice Won.” Cloth. Price $1.50. 
The Last Athenian. By Victor Rydberg. Translated from the Swedish, 
Large 12mo. volume, near 600 pages, cloth, black and gold, price $1.75. 
The Roman Traitor ; or. The Days of Cicero, Cato, and Cataline. A Tale 
of the Republic. By Henry William Herbert. Morocco cloth, price $1.75, 
The Earl of Mayfield. By Thomas P. May, of Louisiana. One large 
duodecimo volume, bound in morocco cloth, black and gold, price $1.50. 
Myrtle Lawn. An American Romance in Real Life. By Robert E, 
Ballard, of North Carolina. Morocco cloth, black and gold, price $1.50. 
Miss Leslie’s Cook Book, a complete Manual tc Domestic Cook'^ry in all 
its Branches. Paper cover, $1.00, or bound in morocco cloth, $1.50. 
Frank Forester’s Sporting Scenes and Charaf^ters. By Henry William 
Herbert, With Nineteen Illustrations. Two ’Crolumes, cloth, $4 00. 
Francatelli’s Modern Cook Book. With the most approved meth''ds of 
French, English, German, and Italian Cookory. With Sixty-twu Illus- 
trations. One volume, 600 pages, bound in morocco cloth, $5.00. 

The Waverley Novels. New National Edition. Five 8vo. vols., cloth 1.5.00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. New National Edition. 7 volumes, cloth, 20.00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated 8co. Ed(fion, 18 vols., cloth, 27.00 

Charles Dickens’ AVorks. New American Edition. 22 vols., cloth, 33.00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. Green Cloth \2mo. Edition. vols., cloth, 44.00 

Charles Dickens’ Works. Illustrated \2mo. Edition. 36 vols., cloth, 45.00 


Above Books will he sent, postage paid, on receint of Retail Pricei, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (C) 


T. B. PETERSON am BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, Canvassers, News 
Agents, and all others in want of good and fast*selling 
books, which will be supplied at very Low Prices. 


MRS. E. B. E. N. SOUTHWORTH’S FAMOUS WORKS. 

Complete in forty -three large duodecimo volumes, hound in morocco cloth, gilt back, 
price $ 1.75 each; or $ 75.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Isbmael; or, In the Depths, being Self-Made; or, Out of Depths.... $l 75 
Self Raised; or, From the Depths. Sequel to Ishmael.’^ 1 75 


The Mother-in-Law, $l 75 

The Fatal Secret, 1 75 

How He Won Her, 1 75 

Fair Play, 1 75 

The Spectre Lover, 1 75 

Victor’s Triumph, 1 75 

A Beautiful Fiend,.*,.... 1 75 

The Artist’s Love, -1, 75 

A Noble Lord, 1 75 

Lost Heir of Linlithgow, 1 75 

Tried for her Life, 1 75 

Cruel as the Grave,.... 1 75 

The Maiden Widow, 1 75 

The Family Doom, 1 75 

The Bride’s Fate, 1 75 

The Changed Brides, 1 75 

Fallen Pride, 1 75 

The Widow’s Son, 1 75 

The Bride of Llewellyn, 1 75 

The F-atal Marriage, 1 75 


The Deserted Wife, 1 75 

The Fortune Seeker, 1 75 

The Bridal Eve, 1 75 

The Lost Heiress, 1 75 

The Two Sisters, 1 75 

Lady of the Isle, 1 75 

Prince of Darkness, 1 75 

The Three Beauties, 1 75 

Vivia; or the Secret of Power, 1 75 

Love’s Labor Won, 1 75 

The Gipsy’s Prophecy, 1 75 

Retribution, 1 75 

The Christmas Guest, 1 75 

Haunted Homestead, 1 75 

Wife’s Victory, 1 75 

Allworth Abbey, 1 75 


India ; Pearl of Pearl River,.. 1 

Curse of Clifton,. 1 

Discarded Daughter, 1 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow,.. 1 


The Missing Bride; or, Miriam, the Avenger, 1 

The Phantom Wedding; or. The Fall of the House of Flint, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
Self-Made; or. Out of the Depths. By Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth. 
Complete in two volumes, cloth, price $1.75 each, or $3.50 a set. 

MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS, 

Complete in twelve large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt bacJ^ 
price $ 1.75 each; or $ 21.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Ernest Linwood, $1 75 

The Planter’s Northern Bride,.. 1 75 

Courtship and Marriage, 1 75 

Rena; or, the Snow Bird, 1 75 

Marcus Warl.and, I 75 


Love after Marriage, $1 75 

Eoline; or Magnolia Vale, 1 75 

The Lost Daughter, 1 75 

The Banished Son, 1 75 

Helen and Arthur, 1 75 


Linda; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole, 1 75 

Robert Graham; the Sequel to “ Linda; or Pilot of Belle Creole,”... 1 75 
Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Friooi 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. (1) 


2 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS, 


MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS’ WORKS. 

Complete in twenty-three large duodecimo volumes, bound in moror.co cloth, gilt baclc^ 
price $1.75 each ; or $40.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


Norston^s Rest, $1 75 

Bertha’s Engagement, 1 75 

Bellehood and Bondage, 1 75 

The Old Countess, 1 75 

Lord Hope’s Choice, 1 75 

The Reigning Belle, 1 75 

Palaces and Prisons, 1 75 

Married in Haste, 1 75 

Wives and Widows, 1 75 

Ruby Gray’s Strategy, 1 75 


The Soldiers’ Orphans, $1 75 

A Noble Woman, 1 75 

Silent Struggles, 1 75 

The Rejected Wife, 1 75 

The Wife’s Secret, 1 75 

Mary Derwent, 1 75 

Fashion and Famine, 1 75 

The Curse of Cold, 1 75 

Mabel’s Mistake, 1 75 

The Old Homestead, 1 75 


Doubly False, 1 75 | The Heiress, 1 75 1 The Gold Brick,.,. 1 76 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


MISS ELIZA A. DTJPUY’S WORKS. 

Complete in fourteen large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt bacJe, price 
$1.75 each ; or $24.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

75 
75 
75 
75 
75 


A New Way to Win a Fortune $1 75 

The Discarded Wife, 1 75 

The Clandestine Marriage, 1 75 

The Hidden Sin, 1 75 

The Dethroned Heiress, 1 75 

The Gipsy’s Warning, 1 75 

All For Love, 1 75 


Why Did He Marry Her ? $1 

Who Shall be Victor? 1 

The Mysterious Guest, 1 

Was He Guilty ? 1 

The Cancelled Will, 1 

The Planter’s Daughter, 1 75 

Michael Rudolph, 1 75 


Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


LIST OF THE BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED. 

Every housekeeper should possess at leasf one of the following Cook Books, as they 
would save the price of it in a week's cooking. 

Miss Leslie’s Cook Book, a Complete Manual to Domestic Cookery 


in all its Branches. Paper cover, $1.00, or bound in cloth, $1 50 

The Queen of the Kitchen; or. The Southern Cook Book. Con- 
taining 1007 Old Southern Family Receipts for Cooking,. ..Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Petersons’ New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Widdifield’s New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Mrs. Goodfellow’s Cookery as it Should Be, Cloth, 1 75 

The National Cook Book. By a Practical Housewife, Cloth, 1 75 

The Young Wife’s Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75 

Miss Leslie’s New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, .1 75 

Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million, Cloth, 1 75 


The Family Save-All. By author of National Cook Book,” Cloth, 1 75 
Francatelli’s Modern Cook Book. With the most approved methods 
of French, English, German, and Italian Cookery. With Sixty- 
two Illustrations. One vol., 600 pages, bound in morocco cloth, 5 00 


^ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Prioei 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 3 


MRS. C. A. WARFIELD’S WORKS. 

Complete in nine large duodecimo volumes, bound in morocco cloth, gilt back, price 
$1.75 each; or $15.75 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Cardinal’s Daughter, $l 75 Miriam’s Meuioirs, $1 75 

Feme Fleming, 1 75 Monfort Kail, 1 75 

The Household of Bouverie,.... 1 75 Sea and Shore, 1 75 

A Double Wedding, 1 75 Hester Howard’s Temptation,.,. 1 75 

Lady Ernestine; or, The Absent Lord of Rocheforte, 1 75 

FREDRIKA BREMER’S DOMESTIC NOVELS. 

Complete in six large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price %\.lb each; 
or $10.50 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Father and Daughter, $1 75 I The Neighbors, $l 75 

The Four Sisters, 1 75 I The Home, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 
Life in the Old World. In two volumes, cloth, price, 3 50 

Q. K PHILANDER DOESTICKS’ WORKS. 

Complete in four large, duodecimo volumes, bound in clofh, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $7.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Doesticks’ Letters, $l 75 I The Elephant Club, $l 75 

Plu-Ri-Bus-Tah, 1 75 | Witches of New York, I 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

JAMES A. MAITLAND’S WORKS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Watchman, $l 75 I Diary of an Old Doctor, $1 75 

The Wanderer,.., I 75 j Sartaroe, 1 75 

The Lawyer’s Story, 1 75 ^ The Three Cousins, 1 75 

The Old Patroon ; or the Great Van Broek Property, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

T. .ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE’S NOVELS. 

Complete in seven large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.75 
each ; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

The Sealed Packet, $1 75 | Dream Numbers,.. $1 75 

Garstang Grange, 1 75 I Beppo, the Conscript, 1 75 

Leonora Casaloni,... 1 75 | Gemma, I 75 | Marietta, I 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

FRANK FORESTER’S SPORTING SCENES. 

Frank Forester’s Sporting Scenes and Characters. By Henry William 
Herbert. A New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition, with a Life of the 
Author, a New Introductory Chapter, Frank Forester’s Portrait and 
Autograph, with a full length picture of him in his shooting costume, 
and seventeen other illustrations, from original designs by Darley and 
Frank Forester. Two vols., morocco cloth, bevelled boards, $4.00. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


4 T. B. PETEKSON & BEOTHEES’ PUBLICATIONS, 


WILKIE COLLINS’ BEST WOEKS. 

Basil; or, The Crossed Path..$l 50 | The Dead Secret. 12mo $1 50 

Above are each in one large duodecimo volume, bound in cloth. 


The Dead Secret, 8vo 75 

Basil; or, the Crossed Path, 75 

Hide and Seek, 75 

After Dark, 75 


The Queen's Kevenge, 75 

Miss or Mrs? 50 

Mad Monk ton, 50 

Sights a-Foot, 50 


The Stolen Mask, 25 | The Yellow Mask,... 25 | Sister Rose,... 25 

The above books are each issued in paper cover, in octavo form. 

EMEESON BENNETT’S INDIAN STOEIES. 

Complete in seven largo duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.7S 
each ; or $12.25 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 


The Border Rover, $1 75 

Clara Moreland, 1 75 

The Orphan's Trials, I 75 


Bride of the Wilderness, $1 75 

Ellen Norbury, I 75 

Kate Clarendon, 1 75 


V^ioia; or Adventures in the Far South-West, 1 75 

Above are each iu cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 

The Heiress of Bellefonte, 75 I The Pioneer’s Daughter, 75 


GEEEN’S WOEKS ON GAMBLING. 

Complete in four large duodecimo volumes, bound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.70 
each / or $7.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Gambling Exposed, $1 75 i The Reformed Gambler, $1 75 

The Gambler’s Life; 1 75 | Secret Band of Brothers, 1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


DOW’S PATENT SEEMONS. 

^mplete in four large duodecimo volumes, hound in cloth, gilt back, price $1.50 
each ; or $6.00 a set, each set is put up in a neat box. 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 3d 


pow’s Patent Sermons, 1st 

Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 2d 
Series, cloth 1 50 


Sermons, 

Series, cloth, $1 50 

Dow’s Patent Sermons, 4th 
Series, cloth, 1 50 


Above are each in cloth, or each one i.s in paper cover, at $1.00 each. 

GEOEGE SAND’S GEEATEST WOEKS. 


ponsuelo, 12rao., cloth, $1 50 i .Jealousy, 12mo., cloth, $1 50 

bountess of Rudolstadt, 1 5U | Indiana, 12mo., cloth, 1 50 

Above are each published in 12m()., cloth, gilt side and back. 
Fanchon, the Cricket, paper cover, 50 cents, or fine edition, in cloth, 1 50 
j'irst and True Love. With 11 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents ; cloth, 1 00 

Consuelo. Paper gover, 75 I The Corsair, 50 

^imon. A Love Story, 50 I The Last Aldini,.. 50 

The Countess of Rudolstadt. The Sequel to Consuelo. Paper cover, 75 


MISS 

Aurora Floyd, 

Aurora Floyd, cloth 


BEADDON’S WOEKS. 

The Lawyer’s Secret,. 


75 

1 00 


For Better, For W orse,. 


25 

75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on Receipt of Retail Prioe, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 5 


PETERSONS’ “DOLLAR SERIES.’’ 

Petersons* **Dollar Series ” of Good Novels are the cheapest books at One Dollar each 
ever pnhlished. 'Ihey are all issued in uniform style, in''[2mo. form, and are 
hound in red, blue and fan vellum, with gold and black sides and back, and are sold 
at the low price of One!* Dollar each, while they are as large as any books published 
at Si -75 and S2.00 each. The following have already been issued in this series: 

A Woman’s Thoughts About Women, By Miss Mulock. 

Two Ways to Matrimony; or, Is It Love, or, False Pride? 

The Story of “ Elizabeth.” By Miss Thackeray. 

Flirtations in Fashionable Life. By Catharine Sinclair. 

The Matchmaker. A Society Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. 

Bose Douglas, the Bonnie Scotch Lass. A Companion to Family Pride.” 
The Earl’s Secret. A Charming Love Story. By Miss Pardoe. 

Family Secrets. A Companion to “Family Pride,” and very fascinating. 
The Macdermots of Ballycloran. An Exciting Novel, by A. Trollope. 

The Family Save-All. With Economical Receipts for the Household. 
Self-Sacrifice. A Charming Work. By author of “Margaret Maitland.” 
The Pride of Life. A Love Story. By Lady Jane Scott. 

The Rival Belles ; or. Life in Washington. Author “ Wild Western Scenes.” 
The Clytfards of Clyffe. By James Payn, author “ Lost Sir Massingberd.” 
The Orphan’s Trials; or. Alone in a Great City. By Emerson Bennett. 
The Heiress of Sweetwater. A Love Story, abounding with exciting scenes. 
The Refugee. A delightful book, full of food for laughter, and information. 
Lost Sir Massingberd. A Love Story. By author of “ Clytfards of Clytfe.’' 
Cora Belmont; or. The Sincere Lover. A True Story of the Heart. 

The Lover’s Trials ; or. The Days Before the Revolution. By Mrs. Denison. 
My Son’s Wife. A strong, bright, interesting and charming Novel. 

Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Carolipe Lee Hentz, author of “ Rena.” 
Saratoga! and the Famous Springs. An Indian Tale of Frontier Life. 
Country Quarters. A Charming Love Story. By Countess of Blessington. 
Self-Love. A Book for Young Ladies, with prospects in Life contrasted. 
The Devoted Bride; or. Faith and Fidelity. A Love Story. 

The Heiress in the Family. By author of “Marrying for Money.” 

Colley Cibber’s Life of Edwin Forrest, with Reminiscences of the Actor. 
The Man of the World. Full of style, elegance of diction, force of thought. 
Outof the De})ths. The Story of a Woman’s Life, and a Woman’s Book. 
The Queen’s Favorite ; or, The Price of a Crown. A Romance of Don Juan. 
Six Nights with the Washingtonians. By T. S. Arthur. Illustrated. 

The Rector’s Wife; or, The Valiev of a Hundred Fires. A Beautiful work. 
The Coquette; or, the Life and Letters of the beautiful Eliza Wharton. 
Woman’s Wrong. A Book for Women. By Mrs. Eiloart. 

Harem Life in Egypt and Constantinople. By Emmeline Lott. 

The Old Patroon; or. The Great Van Broek Property, by J. A. Maitland. 
Nana. By Emile Zola. Gambling Exposed. By J. H. Green 

L’Assommoir. By Emile Zola. Woodburn Grange. By W. Howitt- 

Dream Numbers. By Trollope. The Cavalier. By G. P. R. James 

Love and Duty. By Mrs. Hubback. One for Another. By H. Morford 
A Lonely Life. Shoulder-Straps. By H. Morford. 

The Beautiful Widow. Treason at Home. Panola. 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


6 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


PETERSONS’ “STERLING SERIES.” 

^^Petersons* Sterliiirf Serien ” of Neto and Good Books are the Cheapest Novels 
in the world. 'J'hey are all issued in uniform style, in octavo form, price 
One Dollar each, hound in morocco cloth, black and gold ; or 75 cents each 
in paper cover, with the edges cut open all around. The following 
celebrated works have already been issued in this series : 

Corinne; or, Italy. By Madame De Stael. This is a Wonderful Book. 

The Man in Black; or the Days of Queen Anne. By G. P. R. James. 
Edina; or, Missing Since Midnight. A Love Story. By Mrs. Henry Wood. 
Cyrilla. A Love Stor 3 ^ By the author of “ The Initials.’^ 

Popping the Question; or, Belle of the Ball. By author of “The Jilt.’’ 
Marrying for Money. A Charming Love Story in Real Life. 

Aurora Floyd. An Absorbing Love Story. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 
Salathiel; or, The Wandering Jew. By Rev. George Croly. 

Harry Lorrequer. Full of Fun, Frolic and Adventure. By Charles Lever. 
Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. Charles Lever’s Greatest Novel. 

The Flirt. A Fashionable Novel. By author of “The Gambler’s Wife.” - 
The Dead Secret. Wilkie Collins’ Greatest Work. 

Thackeray’s Irish Sketch Book, with Thirty-eight Illustrations. 

The Wife’s Trials. Dramatic and Powerful. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 

The Man With Five Wives. By Alexander Dumas, author of “ Camille.” 
Pickwick Abroad. Illustrated by Cruikshank. By G. W. M. Re^’nulds. 
First and True Love. Beautifully rich in style. B}-^ George Sand. 

The Mystery; or, Anne Hereford. A Love Story. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 
The Steward. Illustrated. By the author of “ Valentine Vox.” 

Basil: or, The Crosse<l Path. By Wilkie Collins. Told with great power. 
The Jealous Wife. Great originality of plot. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 
Sylvester Sound. By the author of “ Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist.” 
Whitefriars; or, The Days of Charles the Second. Equal to “ Ivanhoe.” 
Webster and Hayne’s Speeches on Foot’s Resolution & Slavery Compromise, 
The Rival Beauties. A Beautiful Love Story. By Miss Pardoe. 

The Confessions of a Pretty Woman. By Miss Julia Pardoe. 

Flirtations in America; or. High Life in New York. 

The Coquette. A Powerful and Amusing Tale of Love and Pride. 

The Latimer Family. T. S. Arthur’s Great Temperance Story, illustrated. 

Above books are $1.00 each in cloth, or 75 cents each in paper cover. 

The Creole Beauty. By Mrs. Sarah A. Dor.sey. Price Fifty cents. 

Agnes Graham. By Mrs. Sarah A. Dorsey. Price Fifty cents. 

HENRY MORFORD’S AMERICAN NOVELS. 

Shoulder-Straps, $1 75 I The Days of Shoddy. A His- 

Thc Coward, 1 75 I tory oif the late War, $1 75 

Above are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, price $1.50 each. 

THE SHAKSPEARE NOVELS. 

Shakspeare and his Friends,. ..$1 00 1 The Secret Passion, $1 00 

The Youth of Shakspeare, 1 00 I 

Above three Books are also bound in morocco cloth. Price $1.25 each. 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 7 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. ILLUSTRATED. 

Tins edition is printed from large fi/pe, octavo size, each hook being complete 
in one large octavo vohime, botntd in Uforocco Cloth, ivith Gilt Character 
Figures on hack, and Medallion on side, price $1..50 each, or $27.00 a set^ 
contained in eighteen volumes, the whole containing near Six Hundred 
Illustrations, hg Gruikshauk, Phiz, Prowne, MucUse, and other artists. 
The Pickwick Papers. By Charles Dickens. With 32 Illustrations, .$1.50 
Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles Dickens. With 37 Illustrations,.... 1 50 

David Copperfield. By Charles Dickens. With 8 Illustrations, 1 50 

Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens. With 24 Illustrations, 1 50 

Bleak House. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Dombey and Son. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Sketches by “Boz.” By Charles Dickens. With 20 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Little Dorrit. By Charles Dickens. With 38 Illustrations, 1 50 

Our Mutual Friend. By Charles Dickens. With 42 Illustrations ... 1 50 
Great Expectations. By Charles Dickens. AVith 34 Illustrations,... 1 50 
Lamplighter’s Story. By Charles Dickens. With 7 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Barnaby Budge. By Charles Dickens. AVith 50 Illustrations, 1 50 

Martin Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dickens. AA’ith 8 Illustrations, 1 50 

Old Curiosity Shop. By Charles Dickens. With 101 Illustrations,. 1 50 

Christinas Stories. By Charles Dickens. AVith 1 2 Illustrations, 1 50 

Dickens’ New Stories. By Charles Dickens. AVith portrait of author, 1 50 
A Tale of Two Cities. By Charles Dickens. AVith 64 Illustrations,. 1 50 
Charles Dickens’s American Notes and Pic-Nic Papers, 1 50 

WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The followvig books are each issued in one large duodecimo volumCf 
hound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautphoeus, $1 75 

Married Beneath Him. By author of “ Lost Sir Massingbcrd,” 1 75 

Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “Zaidee,” 1 75 

Family Pride. By author of “ Pique,” “Family Secrets,” etc 1 75 

The Autobiography of Edward Wortley Montagu, 1 75 

The Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to “ Linda,” 1 75 

Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosiner, 1 75 

The Rich Husband. By author of “George Gcith,” 1 75 

The Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court, 1 75 

My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. A Charming Love Story, 1 75 

The Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Judge Jones,.... 1 75 
Memoirs of A^idocq, the French Detective. His Life and Adventures, 1 75 
The Belle of AA^ishington. AA^ith her Portrait. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 


High Life in AA^ashington. A Life Picture. By Mrs. N. P. Lasselle, 1 75 
Courtship and Matrimony. By Robert Morris. AVith a Portrait,... 1 50 

The Jealous Husband. By Annette Marie Maillard, I 75 

The Conscript ; or, the Days of Napoleon 1st. By Alex. Dumas,.... 1 75 
Cousin Harry. By Mrs. Grey, author of “ The Gambler’s AA^ife,” etc. 1 75 
Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each. 


1^“ Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


8 T. B. PETEESON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following boohs are each issued in one large duodecimo volume^ 
bound in cloth, at $1.75 each, or each one is in paper cover at $1.50 each. 
The Count of Monte-Cristo. By Dumas. Illustrated, paper $1.00,..$! 75 
The Countess of Monte-Cristo. Paper cover, price $1.00 ; or cloth,.. 1 75 

Camille; or, the Fate of a Coquette. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

Love and Money. By J. B. Jones, author of the Rival Belles,”... 1 75 
The Brother’s Secret; or, the Count De Mara. By William (lodwin, 1 75 
The Lost Love. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of Margaret Maitland,” 1 75 
The Roman Traitor. By Henry William Herbert. A Roman Story, 1 75 


The Last Athenian. By Victor Rydberg. From the Swedish, 1 75 

The Bohemians of London. By Edward M. Whitty, 1 75 

Wild Sports and Adventures in Africa. By Major W. C. Harris, 1 75 

The Life, Writings, and Lectures of the late “ Fanny Fern,” 1 75 

The Life and Lectures of Lola Montez, with her portrait, 1 75 

Wild Southern Scenes. By author of ‘‘Wild Western Scenes,” 1 75 

Currer Lyle ; or, the Autobiography of an Actress. By Louise Reeder. 1 75 

The Cabin and Parlor. By J. Thornton Randolph. Illustrated, 1 75 

The Little Beauty. A Love Story. By Mrs. Grey, 1 75 

Lizzie Glenn; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. By T. S. Arthur, 1 75 

Lady Maud ; or, the Wonder of Kingswood Chase. By Pierce Egan, 1 75 

Wilfred Montressor ; or. High Life in New York. Illustrated, 1 75 

Lorrimer Littlegood, by author “ Harry Coverdale’s Courtship,” 1 75 

Married at Last. A Love Story. By Annie Thomas, 1 75 

Shoulder Straps. By Henry Morford, author of “ Days of Shoddy,” 1 75 
Days of Shoddy. By Henry Morford, author of “Shoulder Straps,” 1 75 
The Coward. By Henry Morford, author of “ Shoulder Straps,” 1 75 


Above books are each in cloth, or each one is in paper cover, at $1.50 each, 

MRS. HENRY WOOD’S BEST BOOKS, IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of Mrs, Henry Wood's best books, and they 
are each issued in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, price $1.75 each. 
Within the Maze. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “East Lynne,” $1 75 

The Master of Greylands. By Mrs. Henry Wood, 1 75 

Dene Hollow. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “Within the Maze,” 1 75 
Bessy Rane. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ The Channings,”.... 1 75 
George Canterbury’s Will. By Mrs. AVood, author “Oswald Cray,” 1 75 
The Channings. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Dene Hollow,”... 1 75 

Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings.” By Mrs. AA^ood, 1 75 

Shadow of Ashlydyatt. By Mrs. AA^'ood, author of “ Bessy Rane,”.... 1 75 
Lord Oakburn’s Daughters; or The Earl’s Heirs. By Mrs. AA’ood,... 1 75 
Verner’s Pride. By Mrs. Henry AVood, author of “The Channings,” 1 75 
The Castle’s Heir; or Lady Adelaide’s Oath. By Mrs. Henry AA’uod, 1 75 
Oswald Cray. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Roland Yorke,”.... 1 75 

Squire Trevlyn’s Heir; or Trevlyn Hold. By Mrs. Henry AA^ood, I 75 

The Red Court Farm. By Mrs. AVood, author of A’^erner’s Pride,” 1 75 

Elster’s Folly. By Mrs. Henry AA’ood. author of “ Castle’s Heir,”... 1 75 

St. Martin’s Eve. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of “ Dene Hollow,”! 75 
Mildred Arkell. By Mrs. Henry AVood, author of “East Lynne,” 1 75 

1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Frio% 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 9 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WORKS, BOUND IN CLOTH. 

The folloioing are cloth editions of Alexander Dumas* worksy and they ara 
each issued in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, price $1.75 eacA. 

The Three Guardsmen ; or. The Three Mousquetaires. By A. Dumas, $1 75 
Twenty Years After; or the Second Series of Three Guardsmen,**.,. 1 75 
Bragelonne; S'»n of Athos ; or Third Series of Three Guardsmen,** 1 75 
The Iron Mask ; or the “ Fourth Series of The Three Guardsmen **..., 1 75 
Louise La ValIiere;_^or the Fifth Series and End of the Three 


Guardsmen Series,** 1 75 

The Memoirs of a Physician ; or, Joseph Balsamo. Illustrated, 1 75 


Queen’s Necklace; or** Second Series of Memoirs of a Physician,** 1 75 
Six Years Later; or the ** Third Series of Memoirs of a Physician,** 1 75 
Countess of Charny ; or ** Fourth Series of Memoirs of a Physician,** 1 75 
Andree De Taverney ; or ** Fifth Series of Memoirs of a Physician^* 1 75 
The Chevalier; or tho ** Sixth Series and End of the Memoirs of a 


Physician Series,’* 1 75 

The Adventures of a Marquis. By Alexander Dumas,. 1 75 

The Count of Monte-Cfisto. By Alexander Dumas, 1 75 

Edmond Dantes. A Sequel to the ** Count of Monte-Cristo,”. 1 75 


The Countess of Monte-Cristo. A Companion to Monte-Cristo,”.... 1 75 
The Forty-Five Guardsmen. By Alexander Dumas. Illustrated,... 1 75 
Diana of Meridor, or Lady of Monsoreau. By Alexander Dumas,... 1 75 
The Iron Hand. By Alex. Dumas, author Count of Monte-Cristo,” 1 75 


Camille; or the Fate of a Coquette. (La Dame aux Caraelias,) 1 75 

The Conscript. A novel of the Days of Napoleon the First, 1 75 


Love and Liberty. A novel of the French Revolution of 1792-1793, I 75 

GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS, IN CLOTH. 

The following are cloth editions of G, W. M. Reynolds* works, and they are 
each issued in large octavo volumes, bound in cloth, price $1.75 each. 

The Mysteries of the Court of London. By George W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 
Rose Foster; or the ** Second Series of Mysteries of Court of London,** 1 75 
Caroline of Brunswick; or the ** Third Series of the Court of London,** 1 75 
Venetia Trelawney; or ** Endof the Mysteries of the Court of London,** 1 75 


Lord Saxondale; or the Court of Queen Victoria. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Count Christoval. Sequel to “ Lord Saxondale.” By Reynolds, 1 75 


Rosa Lambert; or Memoirs of an Unfortunate Woman. By Reynolds, 1 75 
Mary Price; or the Adventures of a Servant Maid. By Reynolds,... 1 75 
Eustace Quentin. Sequel to “ Mary Price.” By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 
Joseph Wilmot; or the Memoirs of a Man Servant. By Reynolds,... 1 75 
The Banker’s Daughter. Sequel to Joseph Wilmot.” By Reynolds, 1 75 
Kenneth. A Romance of the Highlands. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 


Rye-House Plot; or the Conspirator’s Daughter. By Reynolds, 1 75 

Necromancer; or the Times of Henry the Eighth. By Reynolds, 1 75 

The Mysteries of the Court of Naples. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 

Wallace; the Hero of Scotland. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 

The Gipsy Chief. By George W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 


Robert Bruce ; the Hero King of Scotland. By G. W. M. Reynolds, 1 75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail PriMi 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


10 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS. 

The following hooka are each issued in one large octavo volnmey hound in 
clotky at $2.00 eachy or each one is done up in paper cover y at $1.50 each. 

The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, $2 00 

Mysteries of Paris; and its Sequel, Gerolstein. By Eugene Sue,.... 2 00 

Martin, the Foundling. By Eugene Sue. Full of Illustrations, 2 00 

Ten Thousand a Year. By Samuel Warren. With Illustrations,.... 2 00 

Washington and His Generals. By George Lippard,.. 2 00 

The Quaker City; or, the Monks of Monk Hall. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Blanche of Brandywine. By George Lippard, 2 00 

Paul Ardenheim; the Monk of Wissahiekon. By George Lippard,. 2 00 
The Mysteries of Florence. By Geo. Lippard, author “ Quaker City,” 2 00 
The Pictorial Tower of London. By W. Harrison Ainsworth, 2 50 

The following are each issued in one large octavo vohtme, bound in cloth, price $2.0® 
each, or a cheap edition is issued in paper cover, at lb cents each. 


Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever, Cloth, $2 00 

Harry Lorrequer. With his Confessions. By Charles Lever,... Cloth, 2 00 

Jack Hinton, the Guardsman. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Davenport Dunn. A Man of Our Day. By Charles Lever,. ..Cloth, 2 00 

Tom Burke of Ours. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

The Knight of Gwynne. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Arthur O’Leary. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Con Cregan. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Horace Templeton. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Kate O'Donoghue. By Charles Lever, Cloth, 2 00 

Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist. By Harry Cockton, Cloth, 2 00 


HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATED WORKS. 

Each one is full of Illustrationsy by Felix 0, C. Darley, and bound in Cloth, 
Major Jones’ Courtship and Travels. In one vol., 29 Illustrations, .$1 75 

Major Jones’ Scenes in Georgia. With 16 Illustrations, 1 50 

Swamp Doctor’s Adventures in the South- West. 14 Illustrations,... 1 50 

Col. Thorpe’s Scenes in Arkansaw. With 16 Illustrations, 1 50 

High Life in New York, by Jonathan Slick. With Illustrations,.... 1 50 

Piney Wood’.s Tavern: or, Sam Slick in Texas. Illustrated, 1 50 

Humors of Falconbridge. By J. F. Kelley. With Illustrations, ... 1 50 

Simon Suggs’ Adventures and Travels. With 17 Illustrations, 1 75 

The Big Bear’s Adventures and Travels. With 18 Illustrations, 1 75 

Judge Haliburton’s Yankee Stories. Illustrated, 1 75 

Harry Coverdale’s Courtship and Marriage. Illustrated, 1 75 

Lorrimer Littlegood. Illustrated. By author of “ Frank Fairlegh,” 1 75 
Sam Slick, the Clockmaker. By Judge Haliburton. Illustrated,... 1 75 

Modern Chivalry. By Judge Breckenridg®. Two vols., each 1 75 

Neal’s Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. 21 Illustrations,... 2 50 

Major Jones’s Courtship. 21 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 

Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes. 12 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, 1 00 

Major Jones’s Travels. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, I 00 

Haney Cottem’s Courtship. 8 Illustrations. Paper, 50 cents, cloth, 1 00 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 11 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

CoTisuelo. Bj George Sand. One volume, 12mo., bound in cloth,.. .$1 50 
The Countess of Rudolstadt. Sequel to “ Consuelo.” ]2mo., cloth,.. 1 50 
Inditina. A Novel. B}^ George Snnd, author of “ Cont^uelo,” cloth, 1 60 
Jealousy ,* or, Teverino. By George Sand, author “ Con.<uelo,” cloth, 1 50 
Fanchon, the Cricket j or. La Petite Fadi'tte. By (George Sand, cloth, 1 50 

The Dead Secret. By Wilkie Collins, author of Basil,” cloth, 1 50 

The Crossed Path; or Basil. By Wilkie Collins, cloth, 1 50 

John Jasper’s Secret. Sequel to Mystery of Edicin D rood , 1 50 
The Life of Charles Dickens. By Dr. R. Shelton Mackenzie, cloth, 1 50 
The Lamplighter’s Story, with others. By Charles Dickens, cloth,... 1 50 
The Old Stone Mansion. By author of Heiress of Sweetwater,” cloth, 1 50 

Rose Foster. By George W. M. Reynolds, Esq., cloth, 1 75 

Lord Montagu’s Page. By G. P. R. James, author ‘ Cavalier,’ cloth, 1 75 
The Earl of Mayfieid. By Thomas P. May, cloth, black and gold,.. I 50 

Myrtle Lawn. A Novel. By Robert E. Ballard, cloth, 1 50 

Corinne; or, Italy. A Love Story. By Madame de Stael, cloth,.... 1 00 
Cyrilla; or Mysterious Engagement. By author of Initials,” cloth, 1 00 

Treason at Home. A Novel. By Mrs. Greenough, cloth 1 75 

Letters from Europe. By Colonel John W. Forney. Bound in cloth, 1 75 

Frank Fairlegh. By author of Lewis Arundel,” cloth, 1 75 

Lewis Arundel. By author of “ Frank Fairlegh,” cloth, 1 75 

Harry Racket Scapegrace. By the authf)r of “ Frank Fairlegh,” cloth, 1 75 

Tom Ptacquet. By author of “ Frank Fairlegh,” cloth, 1 75 

LaGaviota; the Sea-Gull. By Fernan Caballero, cloth, 1 50 

Aurora Floyd. By Miss M. E. Braddon. Bound in cloth, 1 UO 

The Laws and Practice of the (Lime of Euchre and Draw Poker, 

as adopted by the Euchre Club of Washington, D. C. Cloth, 1 00 

Youth of Shakspeare, author Shakspeare and His Friends,” cloth, 1 25 
Shakspeare and His Friends, author “Youth of Shakspeare,” cloth, 1 25 
The Secret Passion, author of “ Shakspeare and His Friends,” cloth, 1 25 
Father Tom and the Pope; or, A Night at the Vatican, illus., cloth, 1 00 

Poetical AVorks of Sir AValter Scott. One 8vo. volume, cloth, 2 50 

Life of Sir Walter Scott. By John G. Lockhart. AVith Portrait, 2 50 

Tales of a Grandfather & History of Scotland, by Walter Scott, cloth, 2 50 
Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, by Sir AALalter Scott. One 8vo. voL, cloth, 2 50 
Miss Pardoe’s Choice Novels. In one large octavo volume, cloth,... 4 00 
Life, Speeches and Martyrdom of Abraham Lincoln. Illus., cloth,.. 1 75 
Rome and the Papacy. A History of the Men, Manners and Tempo- 
ral Government of Rome in the Nineteenth Century, cloth 1 75 

The French, German, Spanish, Latin and Italian Languages AVithout 
a Master. AA^hereby any one of these Languages can be learned 

without a Teacher. By A. H. Monteith. One volume, cloth 2 00 

Liebig’s Complete AVorks on Chemistry. By Justus Liebig, cloth,... 2 00 

Life and Adventures of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, cloth, 1 75 

Tan-go-ru-a. An Historical Drama, in Prnse. By Mr. Moorhead,.... 1 00 

The Impeachment Trial of President Andrew Johnson. Cloth, 1 50 

Trial of the Assassins for the Murder of Abraham Lincoln. Cloth,... 1 50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paidj on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


12 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


NEW AND GOOD BOOKS BY BEST AUTHORS. 

Beautiful Snow, and Other Poem.s. New Illustrated Edition. By J. W. 
Watson. With Illustrations by E. L. Henry. One volume, morocco 
cloth, black and gold, gilt top, side, and back, price $2.00; or in 
maroon morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, $3 0® 
The Outcast, and Other Poems. By J. W. Watson. One volume, 
green morocco cloth, gilt top, side and back, price $2.00 ; or in ma- 
roon morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, ... 3 00 
The Young Magdalen; and Other Poems. Bound in green mo- 
rocco cloth, gilt top, side, and back, price $3.00; or in full gilt,.... 4 00 
Hans Breitmann’s Ballads. By Charles G. Leland. Containing the 
First/* “Second/* “Third/* “Fourth/* and “Fifth Series** of Hans 
Breitmann*s Ballads. Complete in one large volume, bound in 
morocco cloth, gilt side, gilt top, and full gilt back, with beveled 


boards. With a full and complete Glossary to the whole work, 4 00 

Meister Karl’s Sketch Book. By Charles G. Leland, (Hans Breit- 
mann.) Complete in one volume, green morocco cloth, gilt side, 
gilt top, gilt back, with beveled boards, price $2.50, or in maroon 

morocco cloth, full gilt edges, full gilt back, full gilt sides, etc., 3 50 

The Ladies’ Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. By 
Miss Leslie. Every lady should have it. Cloth, full gilt back.... 1 75 
The Ladies’ Complete Guide to Needlework and Embroidery. With 

113 illustrations. By Miss Lambert. Cloth, full gilt back, 1 75 

The Ladies’ Work Table Book. 27 illustrations. Paper 60 cts., cloth, 1 00 
Bow’s Short Patent Sermons. By Dow, Jr. In 4 vols., cloth, each.... 1 50 
Wild Oats Sown Abroad. A Spicy Book. By T. B. Witmer, cloth,... 1 50 
The Miser’s Daughter. By William Harrison Ainsworth, cloth, 1 75 


Across the Atlantic. Letters from France, Switzerland. Germany, 

Italy, and England. By C. H. Haeseler, M.D. Bound in cloth,... 2 00 
Popery Exposed. An Exposition of Popery as it was and is, cloth, 1 75 
The Adopted Heir. By Miss Pardoe, author of ‘‘The Earl’s Secret,” 1 75 
Coal, Coal Oil, and all other Minerals in the Earth. By Eli Bowen, 1 75 

Secession, Coercion, and Civil War. By .1. B. JoncvC, 1 75 

Lives of Jack Sheppard and Guv Fawkes. Illustrated. One vol., cloth, 1 75 
Christy and White’s Complete Ethiopian Melodies, bound in cloth,... 1 00 
Historical Sketches of Plymouth, Luzerne Co., Penna. By Hendrick 

B. Wright, of Wilkesbarre. With Twenty-five Photographs 4 00 

Dr. Hollick’s great work on the Anatomy and Physiology of the 
Human Figure, with colored dissected plates of the Huu)an Figure, 2 00 
Riddell’s Model Architect. With 22 large full page colored illus- 
trations, and 44 plates of ground plans, with plans, specifications, 
costs of building, etc. One large quarto volume, bound, 15 00 


HARRY COCKTON’S LAUGHABLE NOVELS. 


Valentine Vox, Ventriloquist,.. 75 

Valentine Vox, cloth, 2 00 

Sylvester Sound, 75 

The Love Match, 75 


The Fatal Marriages, 

The Steward, 

Percy Effingham, 

The Prince, 


75 

75 

75 

75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brotbersi Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETEESON & BROTHEES’ PUBLICATIONS. 13 


WORKS IN SETS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 

Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth’s Popular Novels. 43 vols. in all, $75 25 


Mrs. Ann S. Stephens’ Celebrated Novels. 23 volumes in all, 40 25 

Miss Eliza A. Dupdy’s Works. Fourteen volumes in all, 24 50 

Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz’s Novels. Twelve volumes in all, 21 DO 

Mrs. C. A. Warfield’s Novels. Nine volumes in all, 15 75 

Frederika Bremer’s Novels. Six volumes in all, 10 50 

T. Adolphus Trollope’s Works. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

James A. Maitland’s Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Charles Lever’s AVorks. Ten volumes in all, 20 00 

Alexander Dumas’ AVorks. Twenty-one volumes in all, 36 75 

George AV. M. Reynolds’ AVorks. Eighteen volumes in all, 31 50 

Frank Fairlegh’s AVorks. Six volumes in all, 10 50 

Q. K. Philander Doestick’s Novels. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

Cook Books. The best in the world. Eleven volumes in all, 18 25 

Henry Morford’s Novels. Three volumes in all, 5 25 

Mrs. Henry Wood’s Novels. Seventeen volumes in all, 29 75 

Emerson Bennett’s Novels. Seven volumes in all, 12 25 

Green’s AVorks on Gambling. Four volumes in all, 7 00 

American Humorous AVorks. Illustrated. Twelve volumes in all, 19 50 

Eugene Sue’s Best AVorks. Three volumes in all, 6 00 

George Sand’s AVorks. Consuelo, etc. Five volumes in all, 7 50 

George Lippard’s AVorks. Five volumes in all, 10 00 

Dow’s Short Patent Sermons. Four volumes in all, 6 00 


The AA^averley Novels. New National Edition. Five 8vo. vols., cloth, 15 00 
Charles Dickens’ AVorks. Neio National Edition. 7 volumes, cloth, 20 00 
Charles Dickens’ Works. Illnutrated Sco. Edition. 18 vols., cloth, 27 00 

Charles Dickens’ AVorks. New American Edition. 22 vols., cloth, 33 00 

Charles Dickens’ AVorks. Green Cloth 12mo. Edition. 22 vols., cloth, 44 00 

Charles Dickens’ AVorks. Illnatrated Vlmo, Edition. 36 vols., cloth, 45 00 

T. S. ARTHUR’S GREAT TEMPERANCE WORKS. 

Six Nights with the AA'^ashingtonians, Illustrated. T. S. Arthur’s 
Great Temperance Stories. Large Subscription Edition, cloth, gilt, 

$3.50; Red Roan, $4.50; Full Turkey Antique, Full Gilt, 6 00 

The Latimer Family ; or the Bottle and Pledge. By T. S. Arthur, cloth, 1 00 

MODEL SPEAKERS AND READERS. 

Comstock’s Elocution and Model Speaker. Intended for the use of 
Schools, Colleges, and for private Study, for. the Promotion of 
Health, Cure of Stammering, and Defective Articulation. By 
Andrew Comstoek and Philip Lawrenee. With 236 Illustrations.. 2 00 
The Lawrence Speaker. A Selection of Literary Gems in Poetry and 
Prose, designed for the use of Colleges, Schools, Seminaries, Literary 
Societies. By Philip Lawrence, Professor of Elocution. 600 pages.. 2 00 
Comstock’s Colored Chart. Being a perfect Alphabet of the English 
Language, Graphic and Typic, with exercises in Pitch, Force and 
Gesture, and Sixty-Eight colored figures, representing the various 
postures and different attitudes to be used in declamation. On a large 
RoHer. Every School should have a copy of it 5 00 

Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Betail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


14 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

GREAT REDUCTION IN THEIR PRICES, 


ILLUSTRATED OCTAVO EDITION. 

Reduced in jivice from $2.50 to $].50 a volume. 

This edAtion is pritited from lonje type, double columu, octavo page, each 
book being complete in one volume, the whole containing near iSioc IJundi ed 
Illustrations, by Cruikshank, Rhiz, Browne, Maclise, and other artists. 


Our Mutual Friend,.... 


$1.50 

David Copperlield, 


$1.50 

Pickwick Papers, 


1.50 

Barnaby Rudge, 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Nicholas Nickleby, 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Martin Chuzzlewit, 


1.50 

Great Expectations, 


1.50 

Old Curiosity Shop, 

..Cloth, 

1.50 

Lamplighter’s Story,... 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Sketches by “ Boz,”.... 

..Cloth, 

1.50 

Oliver Twist, 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Christmas Stories, 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Bleak House, 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Dickens’ New Stories,. 

..Cloth, 

1.50 

Little Dorrit, 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

A Tale of Two Cities,.. 

..Cloth, 

1.50 

Dombey anti Son, 

.Cloth, 

1.50 

Amer. Notes, Pic-Nic Papers, 

1.50 

Price of a set, in Blacli 

: cbdh. 

in eighteen volumes, 

$27.00 


“ “ Full sheep, Library i'tyle, 40.00 

Half calf, si)rir»kle"d edges, 48.00 

Half calf, marbled edges, 54.00 

** Half calf, antique, or Half calf, full gilt backs,... 60.00 

ILLUSTRATED DUODECIMO EDITION. 

Reduced in price from $2.00 to $1.25 a volume. 

This ediHon is printed on the finest paper, from large, clear type, leaded, 
that all can read, containing Six Hundred full page Illustrations, on 
tinted paper, from designs by Cruikshank, Phiz, Browne, Maclise, 
McLenan, and other artists. This is the only edition jiMjlished that con- 
tains all the original illustrations, as selected by Mr. Charles Dickens. 
Complete in 36 volumes, bound in back, morocco cloth, price $45.00 a set, 

‘‘ NEW NATIONAL EDITION’’ OF DICKENS’ WORKS. 

This is the cheapest bound edition of the entire works of Charles Dickens 
ever published, all his writings being contained in seven large octavo vol- 
umes, with a portrait of Charles Dickens, and other illustrations. 

Price of a set, in Black cloth, in seven volumes, $20.00 

Full sheep, Library style, 23.00 

** Half calf, antique, or Half calf, full gilt backs,... 25.00 

GREEN MOROCCO CLOTH, DUODECIMO EDITION. 

This is the People’s Duodecimo Edition” in a new style of Binding, in 
Green Morocco Cloth, Bevelled Boards, Full Gilt descrijytive back, and 
Medallion Portrait on sides in gilt, in Twenty-two handy volumes, A^mo., 
fine paper .large clear type, and Two Hundred Illnstraiiitns on tinted paper. 
Price $44 a set, and each set put up in a neat and strong box. This is 
the handsomest and best edition ever jyublished for the 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Frioo> 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia! Pa. 


T. B. PETEKSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 15 


CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

^e-GKEAT KEDUCTION IN THEIR PRICES.-^ 


PETERSONS’ NEW AMERICAN EDITION OF DICKENS’ WORKS. 


This new edition of Charles Dickens’ Writings is in twenty-two volumes, 
and for beauty and chenpness far .surpasses any ever before issued. It is 
called “ Petersons’ New American Edition,” and is y>rinted on fine paper, 
from large, clear type, leaded, with original illustrations as selected by 
Mr. Dickens and designed by Phiz, Cruikshank, Browne, Maclise and other 
artists, and bound very gorgeously in red vellum, black and gold, with the 
cover filled with the author’s principal characters, which he has made so 
world-famous. There in one corner is the immortal Pickwick, in another 
the well-known Micawber, the learned Capt. Cuttle, poor little Oliver Twist, 
the misguided Grandfather, the mean, hypocritical Pecksniff, the merce- 
nary Squeers, Boots, The Beadle, etc., and all of this for the small sura of 
$1.50 a volume, or a complete set in 22 volumes, each set put up in a neat 
box, for $o3.00, making a very handsome and unique edition. 

CHEAP PAPER COVER EDITION OF DICKENS’ WORKS. 


Each hook being complete 


Pickwick Papers, 50 

Nichola.s Nickleby, 50 

Dombey and Son, 50 

Our Mutual Friend, 51) 

David Copperfield, 50 

Martin Chuzzlewit, 50 

Old Curiosity Shop, 50- 

Oliver Twist, 50 

American Notes, 25 

Hard Times, 25 

A Tale of Two Cities, 25 

Somebody’s Luggage, 25 

Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings, 25 

Mrs. Lirriper’s Legacy, 25 

Mugby Junction, 25 

Dr. Marigohi’s Prescriptions,... 25 

Mystery of Edwin Drood, 25 

Message from the Sea, 25 


Hunted Down; and Other Reprinted 


in one large octavo volume. 

Bleak House, 

Little Dorrit, 

Christmas Stories, 

Btirnaby Rudge, 

Sketches by “‘Boz,” 

Great Expectations, 

Joseph Grimaldi, 

The Pic-Nic P.apers, 

The Haunted House, 

Uticonunercial Tr.-ivellcr 

A House to Let, 

Perils of Engli.<h Prisoners, 

Wreck of the Golden Mary, 

Tom Tiddler’s Ground, 

Dickers’ New Stories, 

Lazy Tour of Idle Apprentices,. 

The Holly-Tree Inn, 

No Thoroughfare, 

Pieces, 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

50 


THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF CHARLES DICKENS. 

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF CHARLES DICKENS. By Dr. Rr Shelton 
Macketiziej containing a full history of his Life, his Uncollected Pieces, 
in Prose and Verse ; Personal Recollections and Anecdotes; llis Last 
Will in full ; and Letters from Mr. Dickens never before published. 
With a Portrait and Autograph of Charles Dickens. Complete in one 
large duodecimo volume, in black cloth, or in red vellum. Price $1.50. 


1^* Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T, B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


16 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 


ALEXANDER DUMAS’ WONDERFUL WORKS. 


Count of Monte-Cristo,.... 

$1 

00 

Edmond Dantes, 

75 

The Three Guardsmen,.... 


75 

Twenty Years After, 


75 

Bragelonne, 


75 

The Iron Mask, 

1 

00 

Louise La Valliere, 

1 

00 

Diana of Meridor 

1 

00 

Adventures of a Marquis, 

1 

00 

Love and Liberty, (1792- 

’93).. 1 

60 


Memoirs of a Physician; or, 

Joseph Balsnmo, $l 00 

Queen’s Necklace, 1 00 


Six Years Later,. 

Countess of Charny,.... 

Andree de Taverney,... 

The Chevalier, 

Forty-five Guardsman,. 

The Iron Hand, 1 


00 

00 

00 

00 

00 

00 


60 i The Conscript, 1 50 

Camille; or, The Fate of a Coquette, (La Dame Aux Camelias,) 1 60 

Countess of Monte-Cristo, a companion to Count of Monte-Cristo,... 1 00 
The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.76 each. 

Twin Lieutenant*!, 60 

George : or. Isle of France, 60 

Madame de Chamblay, 60 

The Black Tulip, 60 

The Corsican Brothers, 60 

The Count of Moret, 60 

The Marriage Verdict, 50 

Buried Alive, 25 


The Mohicans of Paris, 75 

The Horrors of Paris, 75 

The Fallen Angel, 76 

Felina de Chambure, 75 

Sketches in France, 75 

Isabel of Bavaria, 75 

The Man with Five Wives, 76 

Annette; or, Lady of Pearls,.., 76 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ HISTORICAL NOVELS. 


Mysteries Court of London, ....$1 00 


Rose Foster, 1 50 

Caroline of Brunswick, 1 00 

Venetia Trelawney, 1 00 

Lord Saxondale, I 00 

Count Christoval, 1 00 

Rosa Lambert, 1 00 


Wallace, the Hero of Scotland, I 00 
The Mysteries of the Court of NapI 
Robert Bruce, the Hero-King of Sco 
The above are each in paper cov 
Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots,... 76 


The Opera Dancer, 75 

Child of Waterloo, 75 

Isabella Vincent, 76 

Vivian Bertram, 76 

Countess of Lascelles, 76 

Duke of Marchmont, 76 

Massacre of Glencoe, 76 

Loves of the Harem, 76 

The Soldier’s Wife, 75 

May Middleton, 75 


Mary Price, $1 00 

Eustace Quentin, 1 00 

Joseph Wilmot, 1 00 

Banker’s Daughter, 1 00 

Kenneth, 1 00 

The Rye-House Plot, 1 00 

The Necromancer, 1 00 

The Gypsy Chief, I 00 

s, full of illustrations 1 00 

land, full of Illustrations 1 00 

!r, or in cloth, price $1.75 each, 

Ellen Percy, 75 

Agnes Evelyn, 75 

Pickwick Abroad, 75 

Parricide, 75 

Discarded Queen, 75 

The Countess and the Page, 75 

Life in Paris, 60 

Edgar Montrose, 60 

The Ruined Gamester, 50 

Clifford and the Actress, 50 

Ciprina; or, the Secrets, 50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pric«, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS* PUBLICATIONS. IT 


CHARLES LEVER’S GREAT WORKS. 


Charles O'Malley, 75 

Harry Lorrequer,. 75 

Jack Hinton, 75 

Tom Burke of Ours, 75 

Knight of Gwynne,.... 75 

Above are in paper cover, or a fine edition is in cloth at 

A Rent in a Cloud, 50 ] St. Patrick's Eve, 

Ten Thousand a Year, in one volume, paper cover, $1.50; or in cloth, 2 
The Diary of a Medical Student, by author “ Ten Thousand a Year," 


Arthur O'Leary, 75 

Con Cregan, 75 

Davenport Dunn, ; 75 

Horace Templeton, 75 

Kate O’Donoghiie, 75 

.00 each. 


HRS. HENRY WOOD’S MASTERLY BOOKS. 


The Master of Greylands, $1 50 

AViihin the Maze, 1 50 

Dene Hollow, 1 50 

Bessy Kane, 1 50 

George Canterbury’s Will, 1 50 

Verner's Pride, 1 50 

The Channings, 1 50 

Roland Yorke. A Sequel to “ The Channings," 

Lord Oakburn's Daughters ; or. The Earl's Heirs, 

The Castle's Heir ; or. Lady Adelaide's Oath, 

The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each, 

Edina ; or. Missing Since Midnight. Cloth, SI. 00, or in paper cover,. 
The Mystery. A Love Story. Cloth, $1.00, or in paper cover, 


The Shadow of Ashlydyat,., 

Squire Trevlyn's Heir, 

Oswald Cray, 

Mildred Arkell, 

The Red Court Farm, 

Elster's Folly, 

Saint Martin's Eve, 


75 


A Life’s Secret, 

The Haunted Tower 

The Runaway Match, 

Martyn AVare’s Tem]>tation,. 


Parkwater. Told in Twilight, 

The Lost Bank Note, 50 

The Lost AVill, 50 

Orville College, 50 

Five Thousand a Year, 25 Foggy Night at Ofl'ord,. 

The Diamond Bracelet, 25jAVilliam Allair, 

Clara Lake's Dream, 25 i A Light and a Dark Christmas, 

The Nobleman's Wife, 25|The Smuggler's Ghost 

Frances Hildyard, 25! Rupert Hall, 

‘ ~ “ 25 1 My Husband’s First Love, 

25 Marrying Beneath Your Station 


Cyrilla Maude’s First Love,... 
My Cousin Caroline's Wedding 


EUGENE SUE’S LIFE-LIKE WORKS. 

The Wandering Jew, $1 50 

The Mysteries of Paris, 1 50 

Martin, the Foundling, 1 50 

Above are in cloth at $2.00 each. 


First Love 

AVo man’s Love, 

Female Bluebeard,., 
Man-of-War’s-Man, 


Life and Adventures of Raoul de Surville. A Tale of the Empire,. 

WILLIAM H. MAXWELL’S WORKS. 

Wild Sports of the AVest, 75 i Brian O’Lynn,. 

Stories of Waterloo, 75 1 Life of Grace O’Malley, 


50 

00 

75 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

75 

75 

50 

50 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 

25 


50 

50 

50 

50 

25 


75 

50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Pricei 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


18 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’’ PUBLICATIONS. 


HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS. 

With Tllnminated CoverSy and heautifidly Illustrated by Felix 0, C, Darley, 

Major Jones’s Courtship. With Illustrations by Darley, 75 

Major Jones’s Travels. Full of Illustrations 75 

Major Jones’s Georgia Scenes, with Illu.sitrations by Darley,... 75 

Raney Cottem’s Courtship, by author of Major Jones’s Courtship,,... 50 

The Adventures of Captain Simon Suggs. Illustrated,. 75 

Major Jones’s Chronicles of Pineville. Illustrated, 75 

Polly Peablossom’s Wedding. With Illustrations, 75 

Widow Rugby’s Husband. Full of Illustrations, 75 

The Big Bear of Arkansas. Illustrated by Darley, 75 

Western Scenes; or, Life on the Prairie. Illustrated, 75 

Streaks of Squatter Life and Far West Scenes. Illustrated, 75 

Pickings from the New Orleans Picayune. Illustrated, 75 

Stray Subjects Arrested and Bound Over. Illustrated, 75 

The Louisiana Swamp Doctor. Full of Illustrations, 75 

Charcoal Sketches. By Joseph C. Neal. Illustrated, 75 

Peter Faber’s Misfortunes. By Joseph C. Neal. Illustrated, 75 

Peter Ploddy and other Oddities. By Joseph C, Nesil, 75 

Yankee Among the Mermaids. By William E. Burton 75 

The Drama in Pokerville. By J. M. Field. Illustrated, 75 

New Orleans Sketch Book. With Illustrations by Darley, 75 

The Deer Stalkers. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

The Quorndon Hounds. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

My Shooting Box. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

The Warwick Woodlands. By Frank Forester. Illustrated, 75 

Adventures of Captain Farrago. By H. H. Brackenridge, 75 

Adventures of Major O’Regan. By H. H. Brackenridge, 75 

Sol Smith’s Theatrical Apprenticeship. Illustrated, 75 

Sol Smith’s Theatrical Journey-Work. Illustrated, 75 

Quarter Race in Kentucky. AVith Illustrations by Darley, 75 

The Mysteries of the Backwoods. By T. B. Thorpe, 75 

Percival Mayberry’s Adventures. By J. H. Ingraham, 75 

Sam Slick’s Yankee Yarns and Yankee Letters, 75 

Adventures of Fudge Fumble; or, Love Scrapes of his Life, 75 

Aunt Patty’s Scrap Bag. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, 75 

Following the Drum. By Mrs. Gen. Viele, 50 

The American Joe Miller. AVith 100 Engravings, 50 

SAMUEL WARREN’S BEST BOOKS. 

Ten Thousand a Year, paper, $1 50 I The Diary of a Medical Stu- 
Ten Thousand a Year, cloth,.. 2 00 1 dent, 75 

G. P. R. JAMES’S FASCINATING BOOKS. 

Lord Montague’s Page. Paper cover, $1.50, or in cloth, $1 75 

The Cavalier. By the author of “ Lord Montague’s Page,” cloth,.... 1 00 

Mary of Burgundy, 75 1 Eva St. Clair, 50 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by r. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PUBLICATIONS. 19 


MISS PARDOE’S FASCINATING WORKS. 

Confessions of a PrettyWoman, 75 The Rival Beauties, 75 

The Wife’s Trials, 75 Romance of the Harem, 75 

The Jealous Wife 75 

Each of the above five books are also bound in cloth, at $1.00 each. 

The Adopted Heir. One volume, paper, $1.50 j or in cloth, $1 75 

The Earl’s Secret. One volume, paper, $1.50; or in cloth, 1 75 

O’MALLEY AND HARRY LORREaUER. 

Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. By Charles Lever. Four different 
editions: one at 75 cents in paper cover, and three bound in cloth, viz. : 
Sterling Series, $1.00, People’s Edition, $1.50, <fc Library Edition, $2.00. 
Harry Lorrequer. With His Confessions. By Charles Lever. Four 
different editions : one at 75 cents in paper cover, and three bound in 
cloth, viz. : Sterling Series, at $1.00, People’s Edition, at $1.50, and 
Library Edition, at $2.00. 


T. S. ARTHUR’S HOUSEHOLD NOVELS. 

The Divorced Wife, 

Mary Moreton, 

Pride and Prudence, 

Agnes; or, the Possessed,.. 

Lucy Sandford 

The Banker’s Wife, 

The Two Merchants, 

Trial and Triumph, 

The Iron Rule, 


The Lost Bride, 

The Two Brides, 

Love in a Cottage, 

Love in High Life, 

Year after Marriage, 

The Lady at Home, 

Cecelia Howard, 

Orphan Children, 

Debtor’s Daughter 

Insubordination; or, the Shoemaker’s Daughters, 

The Latimer Family; or, The Bottle and the Pledge. Illustrated,.... 
Six Nights with the Washingtonians; and other Temperance Tales. 
By T. S. Arthur. With original Illustrations, by George Cruik- 
shank. One large octavo volume, bound in beveled boards, $3.50; 
red roan, full gilt back, $4.50; or full Turkey morocco, full gilt,... 
Lizzy Glenn; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. Cloth $1.75 ; or paper, 

MRS. GREY’S CELEBRATED NOVELS. 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

60 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 


6 00 
1 50 


Cousin Harry, $1 

The above are each in paper 

A Marriage in High Life, 

Gipsy’s Daughter, 

Old Dower House, 

Belle of the Family, 

Duke and Cousin, 

The Little Wife, 

Lena Cameron, 

Sybil Leonard.... 

Manoeuvring Mother 


50 1 The Little Beauty, $1 50 

cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each. 


The Baronet’s Daughters, 50 

Young Prima Donna, 50 

Hyacinthe, 25 

Alice Seymour, 25 

Mary Seaham 75 

Passion and Principle, 75 

The Flirt, 75 

Good Society, 75 

Lion-Hearted, 75 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of RetaU PrioOi 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


20 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS’ PTIBLICATIONS. 


CAPTAIN MARRYATT’S GREAT WORKS. 


Jacob Faithful, 50 

Japhct in Search of a Father,.. 50 

Phantom Ship, 50 

Midship'.nan Easy, 50 

Pacha of Many Tales, 50 

Frank Mild may. Naval Officer, 50 

Snarleyow, 50 


Newton Forster, 

King^s Own, 

Pirate and Three Cutters,. 

Peter Simple, 

Percival Keene, 

Poor Jack, 

Sea King, 


REVOLUTIONARY STORIES. 


The Brigand, 


Ralph Runnion, 

Seven Brothers of Wyoming,., 

The Rebel Bride, 

The Flying Artillerist, 

Wau-nan-gee, 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 


50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 

50 


50 


Old Put; or, Bays of 1770,... 

Legends of Mexico, 50 

Grace Dudley, 50 

The Guerilla Chief, 75 

The Quaker Soldier, po per, 1 50 

do. do. cloth, i 75 


J. E. SMITH’S WORKS. 

The Usurer’s Victim; or, [Adelaide Waldegrave; or, the 
Thomas Baiscombe, 75 1 Trials of a Governess, 75 

WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH’S WORKS. 


Life of Jack Sheppard, 50 

Life of Guy Fawkes, 75 

Court of the Stuarts, 75 

Windsor Castle, 75 

The Star Chamber, 75 

Old St. Paul’s, 75 

Court of Queen Anne, 50 


Life of Dick Turpin, 60 

Life of Davy Crockett, 50 

Life of Grace O’Malley, 50 

Desperadoes of theNewWorld, 50 

Life of Henry Thomas, 25 

Life of Ninon De L’Enclos,.... 25 

Life of Arthur Si)ring, 25 


The Tower of London, with 93 illustrations, paper cover, $1.50, cloth, 2 50 

The Miser’s Daughter, paper cover, $1.00, or in cloth 1 75 

Lives of Jack ^•heppard and Guy Fawkes, in one volume, clotli, 1 75 


GUSTAVE AIMARD’S ERONTIER STORIES. 


The Prairie Flower, 

50 

Trapper’s Daughter,.., 

The Indian Scout, 

60 

The Tiger Slayer, 

The Trail Hunter, 

75 

The Gold Seekers, 

The Indian Chief, 

75 

The Rebel Chief, 

The Red Track, 

75 

The Border Rifles, 

The White Scalper, 

60 

Pirates of the PrairieSj 

The Freebooters, 

60 



75 


75 


ELLEN PICKERING’S EXaUISITE NOVELS. 

Poor Cou.sin, 50 I The Grumbler, 75 

Orphan Niece, 50 [ Marrying for Money, 75 


Kate Walsingham,. 
Ellen Wareham,. 


60 

38 


M; 

Who Shall be Heir? 38 

The Squire, 38 


Above Books will be sent, postage paid, on receipt of Retail Price, 
by T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 



306 Chestnut Street^ Philadelphia, 


Desire to direct the close attention of all lovers of good novel reading to the 
works and authors contained in their new catalogue, just issued. A strict scrutiny is 
solicited, because the books enumerated in it are among the most popular now 
in existence. In supplying your wants and taste in the reading line, it is of the first 
importance that you should give special attention to what is popularly designated en- 
tertaining reading ma’ter. No library is either attractive or complete without a col- 
lection of novels and romances. The experience of many years has demonstrated 
that light reading is essential to even the most studious men and women, furnishing 
the mind with healthful recreation ; while to the young, and to those that have not 
cultivated a taste for solid works of science, it forms one of the best possible training 
schools, gradually establishing, in a pleasant manner, that habit of concentration of 
thought absolutely necessary to read understandingly the more ponderous works, 
which treat of political economy, the sciences, and of the arts. 

We publish and sell at very low rates, full and varied editions of the works of 
all the famous American and Foreign Novelists, whose writings are very entertain- 
ing, specially adapted for all readers. The most of them are bound in strong cloth 
1 inding, and also in paper covers. Examination is asked for our editions of the 
writings of Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southw'orth, whose romances are always in 
demand; Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, the well-known fayorite ; Mrs. Henry Wood, 
the authoress of “ East Lynne ; ” Mrs. Cajjoline Lee' Hentz, whose stories of 
Southern life stand unparalleled in their simple, truth and ejiejuisite beauty ; Mrs. C. 
A. Warfield, another very popular Southern writer ; Miss Eliza A. Dupuy, who 
has made a wonderful mark ; Mrs. F. H. Bur'nett, the authoress of “ Theo ; ” the 
charming and pathetic French and Russian romances of Henry Greville; the 
wonderful and famous fictions of Gustave Flaubert ; the brilliant and artistic works 
of Octave Feuillei' ; the highly finished and powerful stories of Ernest Daudet ; 
the popular and pleasing productions of Prosper Mekimee; the beautiful and 
touching love tales of the celebrated George Sand; the clever and intensely inter- 
esting writings of Jules Sandeau; the exciting and ingenious novels of Adolphe 
Belot; the picturesque and enchaining works of Madame Angele Dussaud ; the 
exquisitely pathetic romances of the Princess Altieri ; the strong and graphic 
productions of Andre Theuriet ; the wild frontier sketches of Gustave Aimard ; 
the classic and refined works of Madame De Stael; the absorbing and vivid fic- 
tions of Alexander Dumas, Pere ; the natuial and forcible novels of Alexander 
Dumas, Fils ; the startling and mysterious romances of Eugene Sue ; the trenchant 
an 1 unique narratives of Victor Hugo ; the realistic novels of Emile Zola, which 
1 ave had a sale in this country unparalleled in the history of recent book-making; 
George W. M. Reynolds, whose romances of London life, founded on facts, arc of 
matchless interest; Sir Walter Scott, whose “ Waverley" novels still maintain 
a strong hold on the people. Charles t)iCKENs’ complete writings we furnish in 
every variety of style. We publish also the weird stories of Georc;e Lippard ; the 
mariial novels of Charles Lever ; the comical nautical tales of Captain Marryat ; 
Emerson Bennett’s Indian stories ; Henry Cockton’s laughable nar.ratives; T. 
S. Arthur's temperance tales and household stories ; the wonderful and entertain- 
ing novels of Eugene Sue and W. H. Ainsworth ; the quiet domestic novels of 
Fredrika Bremer and Ellen Pickering; the masterly novels of Wilkie Col- 
lins; Frank Fairlegh’s quaint stories, and Samuel Warren’s elaborate ro- 
mances ; the works of Mrs. C. J. Newby, Mrs. Grey, and Miss Pardoe ; W, H. 
Herbert’s sporting stories ; and the graphic Italian romances of T. A. Trollope ; 
also the fascinating writings of G. P. R. James, Mrs. S. A. Dorsey, Sir Edward 
Bulwer Lytton, James A. Maitland, The Shakspeare Novels, Ch.arles G. 
Leland (Hans Breitmann), Dow’s Patent Sermons, Doesticks, and Henry 
Morford, as well as Francatelli's, Miss Leslie’s, and all the best Cook Books ; 
Petersmis' “Dollar Series of Good Novels;’’ Petersons’ “ Sterling Scries ’’ of 
entertaining books ; Petersons’ popular “ Square lamo. Series’’ of excellent stories ; 
together with hundreds of others, by the best authors in the world. 

4^ Look over our Catalogue, and enclose a Draft or Post Office Order for five, 
ten, twenty, or fifty dollars, or more, to us in a letter, and write for what books 
you wish, and on receipt of the money, or a satisfactory reference, the books will 
De packed and sent to you at once, in any way you may direct. Address all orders t9 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Pubiisfiers, 

306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 


MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP 

AND MAJOR JONES’S OTHER BOOKS, JUST PUBLISHED BY 

r. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, PHILADELPHIA 

And for sale In Paper Cover, and in Morocco Cloth, Gilt. 


Major Jones’s CourtsMp. 

/ MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP. Detailed, with Humorous Scenes, Inci-i 
’dents, and Adventures. By Major Joseph Jones, author of “Eancy Cot- 
tem’s Crartsliip,” ‘‘Major Jones’s Travels,” “Major Jones’s Georgia 
Scenes,” etc. Revised and Enlarged. With Twenty-One Full Page Illus- 
trations on Tinted Plate Paper, by Darley and Cary. One volume, 12mo. 
Price 7o cents in paper cover ; or in morocco cloth, gilt, $1.00. 

Major Jones’s Travels. 

MAJOR JONES’S TRAVELS. Detailing his Adventures, Humorous 
Scenes, and Incidents, in each town he passed through, while on his tour 
from Georgia to Canada. By Major Joseph Jones, author of “ Major 
Jones’s Courtship.” With Eight Full Page Illustrations on Tinted Paper, 
by Darley. One volume, 12mo., uniform with “Major Jones’s Courtship.” 
Price 75 cents in paper cover ; or in morocco cloth, gilt, $1 .00. 

MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP and MAJOR JONES’S TRAVELS. These two 
books are also issued in one volume, bound in morocco cloth, price $1.75. 

Major Jones’s Georgia Beenes. 

MAJOR JONES’S GEORGIA SCENES. Comprising his celebrated Sketches 
of Georgia Scenes, with their Incidents and Characters. By Major Joseph 
Jones, author of “Major Jones’s Courtship.” With Twelve Full Page 
Illustrations on Tinted Paper, by Darley. Uniform with Major Jones’s 
Courtship.” Price 75 cents in paper cover ; or in morocco cloth, gilt, $1.0). 

Eancy Cottem’s Courtship. 

RANCY COTTEM’S COURTSHIP. Detailed, with Other Humorous 
Sketches and Adventures. By Major Joseph Jones, author of “Major 
Jones’s Courtship.” With Eight Full Page Illustrations on Tinted Plate 
Paper, by Cary. One volume, 12mo., uniform with “ Major Jones’s Court- 
ship.” Price *50 cents in paper cover ; or in morocco cloth, gilt, $1.00. 


Books hy Major Jones, are for sale by all Booksellers and 2Jewt 
Agents, or copies of any one or all of them, will be sent to any one, to any place, 
at once, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted, to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 

WANTED.— Canvassers to engage in selling tlie aiiove 


PETERSONS’ DOLLAR SERIES. 

JPrice One Dollar Each, in Cloth, Dlach and Gold, 


L. WOMAN’S THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN. By Miss Mulock. Every Lady wants it 
.TWO WAYS TO MATHIMONY; or, Is It Love, or. False Pride? 

THE STORY OP “ELIZABETH.” By Miss Thackeray, daughter of W. M. Thackeray. 

, FLIRTATIONS IN FASHIONABLE LIFE. By Catharine Sinclair. 

THE MATCHMAKER. A Society Novel. By Beatrice Reynolds. Full of freshness and truth. 
ROSE DOUGLAS, The Bonnie Scotch Lass. A Companion to “FamUy Pride.” 

THE EARL’S SECRET. A Charming and Sentimental Love Sti.ry. By Miss Pardoe. 
FAMILY SECRETS. A Companion to “Family Pride,” and a very fascinating work. 

THE MACDERMOTS OF BALLYCLORAN. An Exciting Novel by Anthony Trollope. 
THE FAMILY SAVE- ALL. With Economical Receipts for B'eakfast, Dinner and Tea. 
SELF-SACRIFICE. A Charming and Exciting Work. By author of “ Margaret Maitland.” 
THE PRIDE OP LIFE. A Love Story. By Lady Jane Scott. 

THE RIVAL BELLES ; or. Life in Washington. By author “Wild Western Scenes.” 
THE CLYPPARDS OF CLYPPE. By James Pay n, author of “ Lost Sir Masoingbeid.” 
THE ORPHAN’S TRIALS; or. Alone ia a Great City. By Emerson Bennett. 
THE HEIRESS OP SWEETWATER. A Love Story, abounding with exciting scenes. 
THE REFUGEE. A delightful book, full of food for laughter, and sterling information. 

LOST SIR MASSINGBERD. A Love Story. By author of “ The Clyffards of Clyffe.” 
CORA BELMONT; or, THE SINCERE LOVER. A True Story of the Heart. 
THE LOVER’S TRIALS ; or. The Days Before the Revolution. By Mrs. Denison. 
MY SON’S WIPE. A strong, bright, -interesting and charming Novel. By author of “ Caste.” 
AUNT PATTY’S SCRAP BAG. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, author of “ Linda,” “Rena.’* 
SARATOGA! AND THE FAMOUS SPRINGS. An Indian Tale of Frontier Life. 
COUNTRY QUARTERS. A Charming Love Story. By the Countess of Ble.ssingt m. 
SELF-LOVE. A Book for Young Ladies, with their prospects in Single and Married Life contrasted. 
THE DEVOTED BRIDE ; or, FAITH AND FIDELITY. A Love Story. 

THE HEIRESS IN THE FAMILY. By author of “ Marrying for Money.” 

THE LIFE OP EDWIN FORREST. By Colley Cibber. With Reminiscences. 

THE MAN OP THE WORLD. This is full of style, elegance of diction, and force of thought. 
OUT OP THE DEPTHS. A Woman’s Story and a Woman’s Book, the Story of a Woman’s Life. 
THE QUEEN’S FAVORITE ; or. The Price of a Crown. A Bomance of Don Juan, 
SIX NIGHTS WITH THE WASHINGTONIANS. By T. S. Arthur. Illustrated. 
THE RECTOR’S WIPE; or, THE VALLEY OP A HUNDRED FIRES. 
THE COQUETTE; or, LIFE AND LETTERS OF ELIZA WHARTON. 
WOMAN’S WRONG. A Book for AVomen. By Mrs. Eiloart. A Novel of great power. 
HAREM LIFE IN EGYPT AND CONSTANTINOPLE. By Emmeline Lott. 
THE OLD PATROON; or, THE GREAT VAN BROEK PROPERTY. 
NANA. By Emile Zola. GAMBLING EXPOSED. By J. 11. Green. 

L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola. WOODBURN GRANGE. By W. Ilosvitt. 

DREAM NUMBERS. By T. A. Trollope. THE CAVALIER. By G. P. R. Janies. 
LOVE AND DUTY, By Mrs. Hubback. ONE FOR ANOTHER. By H. Morford. 
A LONELY LIFE. SHOULDER-STRAPS. By H. Morford. 

THE BEAUTIFUL WIDOW. TREASON AT HOME. PANOLA i 

The xhovp Books are all issued in ^^Pefersons' Dollar Scries^' avd they will he found for sale 
hi/ all Book-sellers, News Agents, and on all Railroad trains, at One Dollar each, or copies of any one 
or m re, will he sent to any place, at once, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter^ to 

T. B. BBTEBSON & BBOTIIEBS, Bhiladelphia. 



TRAVELS. 


By Author of “Major Jones’s Courtship.” 



“ Says she to Major Jones, I’m a poor woman, my husban’s sick, won't you hold this bundle lor me till 1 g 
In the drug-store for some niedicin’. I dhl so, got tired of waiting, and walked down to the lamp-post to se 
w’hat it was. ‘ It was a live baby,’ and the sweat poured out of me, I tell you, in a streain.”-> raye 114. 


Price in Paper Cover, 75 Cents; or in Morocco CJoth, Gift and Black, $1.00 

Major JoR.es’ s Travels is for sale by all Booksellers and News Aaents, or copies oj 
either edition will be sent ai once, post-paid, on remitting price in a letter to the pubiisimrs, 


T. B. VF.TEIimN & BKOTIIBBS, Pbiladclphla, 


t 



Ali er aay will be seat free of postogs, eTerywbcre, to all, oa receipt of remttanecs. 


Tlie Coismt of* 3Ionte»'Cr#.sto« Witli elegant ilinstiations, and portraits of Edmond Bantci^ 
Mercedes, and Fernand. Prine $i,50 in paper cover ; or ^1.75 in clotli. 

£ilmof9(3 S>a.3ttes. A Sequel to l)io “Count of Mont©-Cd<-to.’’ la emo large octavo voltimsk 
Price 7o cents in paper cover, or a finer edition, bound in cloth, for ^l.TS. 

The €o;i8itess of Morrte-Cri»to. With a portrait of the “Countess? Mo^ste-CriESo^c^ 
:the cover. One large octavo volume, pa-per cover, price ^1.00; or bound ia ciotia, $L75. 

The Three truartfsmezi; or. The Three Meissttgisefaires;. In one laige oefeT • 
Tolume. Price 7d cents in paper cover, or a finer edition in cloth, lor ^1.75. 

Twenty Years Aft«rr. A Sequel to the “Three Guaidsnien.” In ono large octavo voluint 
price 75 cents in paper cover, or a finer edition, in one volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

Bra^eEoiiiae ; fhe Sow of Athos. Being the continuation of “ Twenty Ycais la 

»ne large octavo volume. Prices 75 cents in paper cover, or a finer edition In cloth, for gl.75. 

The Iron Mask. Bidng the continuation of the “Tlrree Guaydsmeo,’* “Twenty After,” 

and “ Bragclonne.’* In one large octavo volume. Paper cover, or in cloth, for §L75. 

ljOiai.se lift Yalliere; or, the Second Series of the “Iron Mask,” and cud of “The Three 
Guardsmen ” series. In ono large octavo volume. Paper cover, $1.00; or in cloth, for §1.75. 

The Memoirs of a Physieiftaa ; or, The Secret History of the Cvurt of Ixseis the Flfteenth- 
Beautifidiy Illustrated. In one large octavo volume. Paper cover, $1.00; or in cloth. Sir $1.75. 

The ^iweeii’s ^feckSace; or, The “Second Series of the McmcirK of a Phyddan.” In on* 
large octavo volume. Paper cover, price $1.00; or in one volume, ciotit, for $1.75. 

Six Years I^aterj or, Taking of the Basti'.e. Being the “Third Series of the Memoirs of a 
Physician.” In one large octavo volume. Paper cover, $1.00; or in ciolh, for $1.75. 

Countess of Chanty; or, The Fall of the French Monarchy. !^ing the “Fourth Series dt 
tiie ilemoirs of a Physician.” In one largo octavo volume. Paper Cf3VBr, ; oc in cloth, for $1.75. 

Aui£c*ee <Se Taveruey- Eiung the “Fifth Series of the Memoirs of a Physiciaa.” luosf 
krge octavo volume. Paper cover, price $1,00; or in ono volume, cloth, for $1,75. 

The Chevalier; or, the “Sixth Series and final conclusion of the Me7?K>ics of a Physiciai 
Series.” lu one large octavo volume. Price $1.00 in paper cover; or $1.75 in cloth. 

Joseph Balsamo. Bamas’ greatest ivorl^ from which the play of “Joseph Balsamo” wac 
^niatized, by bis son, Alexander Dumas, Jr. Price $1.00 in paper cover, or $1,50 iu cloth. 

The Coiascjript; er. The l^uys of the First I)i'o.poieoii. An Historical Novel. Ia 
#ue large duodecimo voimub. Price $1.50 in paper cover; or in cloth, for $1.75. 

C&mille; or. The Fate of a CoJiwette. (“La Dame aux Canteiias.”) This is the only 
true and complete translatiou of “Camille,” and it i« from this translation that the Play of “Camilhs," 
and the Oi>era cf “ La Traviata ” was adapted to the Stage. Paper cover, price $1.50 ; or in doth, $1.75. 

trOve and Fibefiy; er, A Mail of the People, (ilene Besson.) A Thtiiiirtg Story 
of the French Revolution of 1792-9‘L In one large duodecimo volume, ^pec cover, $1.50; cloth, $1,75. 
The Adventures oS » Paper c*3ver, $1.00; or in one volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

The Forty-Five Oiiartlmsstcjs. Paper cover, $1.0<1 ; or in one volume, clotli, fi r $1.75. 
Ditina of Meridor. Paiier cover, or in ono volume, cloth, for $1.75. 

The Iron Muiiii. Price $1.00 in pivper cover, or ia cno volume, clotli, for $1.75. 

Isabel of Bavaria, <^aeeri <>t France. In one larg-e o<*fixvo volunic. Pri«:«75ceE^ 
Annette; or. The of the Pearls. A Companion to “Casniiie.” lYl'.© 75 centu 

The 5'’aiiew Aiagel. A Story of Love and Life in Paris, One large volumo. Price 75 oaatik 
The Mohicans of Paris. Iti one large octavo volunae. Price 75 cents. 

The Horrors of Paris. In one large octavo volua^e. Price 75 cents. 

The Man with Five Wives. In one large octavo volume. Price 75 cent^. 

Sketches in France. In one largo octavo vokono. Price 75 cents. 

Felina tSe Fhambnre; or. The Fesstale Fienri. Price 15 ccnls. 

The Twin liientenants; or^ The Soldier’s Bri«Se. Price 75 cents. 

Madasne <ie Chambiay. in one large octavo voliuno. Price 50 cents. 

The Klack Iu one large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

The Forsicarw Brotherrv In one large octavo volume. Price 50 cenfo. 

Oeersfe; or. The Plat* ter of the Isle of Frassce. Price 50 cent*, 

The of Moret. In one large octavo volume. Prve© 50 cents. 

The Marriaj^e Yer<Siet. In one large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

Buried Alive. In one large octavo volume. Price 25 cents. 

Above hooks are for sale hy all Boolcsellsrs and Nexes AgeniSj or of owlft 

morOf will be sent to any one, post-paid, on remitting price to the Publislters, 

T. PETEBSO]^ & BKOTHEBB, FliilaflelpJiia, 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS’ WORKS; 

NEW AND BEAUTIFUL EDITIONS, JUST READY. 

Each Work is complete and unabridged, in one large volume. 

All OP any will be sent free of postage, everywhere, to all, on receipt of remittances. 

Mysteries of tiie Conrt of L.on€ioii ; being THE MYSTERIES OF THE COUPT Of 
•EORGE the third, with the Life and o/ PRINCE OF WALES, w/Vericard GEORGt 

Tub fourth, complete in one largo volume, bound in cloth, price .75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Rose Foster; or, the “ Second Series of the Mysteries of the Court of Loudon.” Complete in on# 
large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.50. 

Caroline of Rrusiswicic; or, the “Thiid Series of the Mysteries of the Court of London. 
Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, ) rice$i.( 0. 

Venetia Trelawiaey ; being the Fourth Series < r final conclusion of the Mysteries of the Con 
•f London.” Complete in one large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, jjrice $1.00. 

LiOrd Snxondlale; or. The Court of Queen Yictoiia. Complete in one large volume, bound in 
cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Fount CUristovaJ. The “Sequel to Lord Saxondale.” Complete :n one large volume, bound 
In cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Rosa JLaiiibort; or. The Memoirs of an Unfortunate Woman. ConipJete in one large volume, 
bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Josepll Wilnioi; Or, The Memoirs of a Man Servant. Complete in one large volume, bound in 
cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

Tile Ranlier’s Rang;' liter. A Sequel to “Joseph Wilmot.” Complete in one large volume, 
bound in cloth, price $1.75; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

The Rye-llouse Plot; or, Ruth, the Conspirator’s Daughter. Complete in one large volume^ 
bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $1.00. 

The Jfeeromancer. Being the Blysteries of the Court of Henry the Lie;lith. Complete ii 
me large volume, bound in cloth, price $1.75 ; or in paper cover, price $i.0«'. 

Mary Price ; or. The Adventures of a Servant Maid. One vol., cb.t h, price $1 .75 ; or in j'aper. $1 OQ 
Fiistace Q,iieiitin. A “Sequel to Mary Price.” One vol., cloth, price $1.75; or in paper, $1.0(1 
The Mysteries of the Court of JN^aples. P-ice $1.( 0 in paper cover; or$l.75 in dotb 
Kemieth. A Romance of tho Higldands. One vol.. cloth, price |,1.75 ; or in paper cover, $1.00. 
Wallace: the Hero of Scotlaiad. Illustrated v.iih plates. Paper, $1.(0; cloth, $1.75 
The Gipsy Fhief. Beautifully Illustrated, l iice $1.00 in jjaper cover, or $1.75 in cloth. 
Robert Bruce; the Hero iiisi;;;? of l^eotiaBUl. Illustrated. Paper, $1.00 ; cloth, $1.75 
The Opera Raneer ; or, The Mysteries-of London Life. Price 75 cents. 

Isabella Visiceiit; or, TIir Two Orphans. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cci ts. 
Vivian Bertram *, or, A Wife’s Honor. A Sequel to “Isabella YiTicent.” Price 75 cents. 
The Fountess of Rascelles. The Continuation to “A'ivian 1 ertram ” Price 75 cents. 
Rilke of Marchmoiit. Being the Condnsion of “ Tb.e ( oi ntess of Lnseelb s.” Price 75 cent# 
The Child of Waterloo; or, 'J'he Horrors of tlie Tattle Field. Piice 75 cents. 

Pickwick Abroad. A Compaaion to the “Pickwick I’apers,” by “ Boz.” Price 75 cents. 
The Countess and the i^ag’e. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

Mary Stuart, Q,iieeu of Scots. Complete in one large octavo volume. Price IS centfl. 
The Soldier’s Wife, lllu strated. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

May Middleton ; or. The Hist ory of a Fortune. In one large octavo volume. Price 76 cental 
Tile Iioves of the Harem. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

Filen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress. One laige octavo volume. Price 75 centi. 

TlLe Riscarded Queen. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cen s. 

Evelyn ; or. Beauty and Pleasure. One large octavo v. lume. Price 75 cents. 

Tlie Massacre of Glencoe. One large octavo volume. Price 75 cents. 

The Parricide; or, Youtli’s Career in Crime. Beautifully Illustrated. I’lice 75 cents. 
Giprina; or. The Secrets of a Picture GalJery. One volume. Price 5o cent#. 
The Ruined Gamester. With Illustrations. One large octavo volume. Price 50 cent#. 

^ Fife in Paris. Handsomely illustrated. One large octavo volume. Price 60 cents, 
flliiford ami the Actress. One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

Edg'ar Montnrose. One large octavo volume. Price 50 cents. 

^^The above works will be found for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, 

Copies of any one^ or more, or all of Reynolds^ works, will be sent to any plac\ 
Once, post-paid, on remitting price of ones wanted to the Publishers, 

T. B. PErEKSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia. P w 


Mrs. Emma D. E. N. South. worth.’s New Booh, 


SELF-MADE; 

OR, OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

BT MBS. E. D. E. K SOUTHWORTH, 

Is now Complete in Book Form, in Two Tolnmes. Price $1.75 eacli, or 
$3.50 a set. It is also issued under the names of 

“ISHMAEL” AND “SELF-RAISED.” 

THEY ARE TWO OF THE BEST NOVELS EVER PRINTED. 

Price $1.75 each, or $3.50 for the two, bound in Morocco Cloth. 


LIST OF MRS. SOUTHWORTH’S WORKS. 


Airs, Southworth' s Works are complete in forty-three volumes^ bound in morocco 
clothf with gill back, price ^1.75 each, or ^75.25 a sety each set in a neat box. 


Ishmael ; or, In the Depths. Being “ Self-Made.’’ 
Self-Raised ; or. From the Depths. Sequel to “ Ishmael.” 
The Fortune Seeker. The Fatal Marriage. 

The Lost Heiress. The Deserted Wife. 


Tried for Her Life. 

Cruel as the Grave. 

The Maiden Widow. 

The Family Doom. 

The Bride s Fate. 

The Changed Brides. 

Fair Play. 

How He Won Her. 

Victor’s Triumph. 

A Beautiful Fiend. 

The Spectre Lover. 

The Prince of Darkness. 

The Christmas Guest. 

Fallen Pride. 

The Widow s Son. 

The Bride of Llewellyn. 

The Fatal Secret. 

The Bridal Eve. 

India ; Pearl of Pearl River. 


Love’s Labor Won. 

A Noble Lord. 

The Lost Heir of Linlithgow. 
The Artist’s Love. 

The Gipsy s Prophecy. 

The Three Beauties. 

Vivia; or, the Secret of Power. 
The Two Sisters. 

The Missing Bride. 

The Wife’s Victory. 

The Mother-in-Law. 

The Haunted Homestead. 

The Lady of the Isle. 

Allworth Abbey. 

Retriburion. 

The Curse of Clifton. 

The Discarded Daughter. 

The Mystery of Dark Hollow. 
The Phantom Wedding. 


Copies of any one worky or more, or a complete set of Airs. SouthwortlP s 
IVorkSy' luill be sent to any oney to any address, at once, free of freight or postage, on 
remitting $1.75 for each one wanted, to T. B. Peterson cSr* Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. 


1^* Address all orders and remittances to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


PETERSONS’ NEW BOOKS 


NANA’S DAUGHTER. A Continuation of and Sequel to Emile 
Zola’s Novel of “ NANA.” Paper, 75 cents, or $1.00 in cloth. 

NA3SIA. By Emile Zola, A New Edition, With an Illustrated 
Cover and Portraits. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 

NANA’S MOTHER; or, L’ASSOMMOIR. By Emile Zola, 
With her Portrait. Paper cover, 75 cents, or $1.00 in cloth. 

THE HISTORY OP A PARISIENNE. By Octave Feuilletj 
author of “ Bellah.” Paper, 50 cents, or $1.00 in cloth. 

THE EXILES. A Russian Story, Paper, 75 cents, or cloth, $1.00. 

MILDRED’S CADET; or, HEARTS AND BELL-BUT- 
TONS. An Idyl of West Point, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 

MY HERO! By Mrs, Forrester, Paper, 75 cents, or cloth, $1.00. 

CAMILLE; or, THE PATE OP A COQUETTE. Q‘La 

Dame Aux Camelias,^') Paper, 75 cents, or $1.25 in cloth. 

DOSIA. By Henry Greville, Paper cover, 75 cents, or cloth, $1.25. 

VIDOCQ! THE PRENCH DETECTIVE. With Portrait 
and other Engravings. Paper, 75 cents, or $1.00 in cloth. 

THE EARL OP MAYPIELD. Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 

MAJOR JONES’S COURTSHIP. With 21 full-page Illustra- 
tions. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.00 in cloth. 

LINDA. By Caroline Lee Hentz, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.25. 

THE WOMAN IN BLACK, being the Story of a Handsome 
and Ambitious Woman, Paper, 75 cents, cloth, $1.00. 

THE COUNT DE CAMORS. ^ By Octave Feuillet, Price 75 
cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in cloth. 

MADAME BO VARY. A Tale of Provincial Life, By Gustave 
Flaubert, His Great Book. Paper, 75 cents, or cloth, $1.00. 

KATHLEEN! THEO! MISS CRESPIGNY! PRETTY 
POLLY PEMBERTON ! and QUIET LIPE. By Mrs, 
Burnett, Price of each, 50 cents in paper, or $1.00 in cloth. 


of the above works are for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents every wliet'e^ 
and on all Rail' Road Trains, or copies of any one, or all of them, will be sent to any one, 
to any place, per mail, postpaid, on remitting price of the ones wanted to the PMishers, 

T. B. BETEBSON S BBOTHEBS, JPhiladelphia, Ba. 


EMILE ZOLA’S NEW BOOKS 


wasm 

The Greatest Novels Ever Printed, 


Read what “Mrs. hwcy H. Hooper” says of “Emile Zola’s Works,” in 
the “Philadelphia Evening’ Telegraph.” 

The immense success of Zola forms a curious feature in the literary history of this age. For he is 
not only honored by the critics, who recognize his strength, his pitiless audacity, his positive genius, 
but he is the idol of all classes on account of the truthfulness of his delineations. Now I do not join 
with the world at large in considering Zola immoral. He is no more immoral than a physician lec- 
turing about certain phases of horror in the condition of a patient afflicted with mortal disease. 
Nobody will arise from the perusal of Zola’s books possessed with a desire to imitate the actions or to 
follow the example of his heroes and heroines. His works are not demoralizing. He never makes 
vice lovely, never paints it in alluring tints, never strews its pathway with flowers. He is simply, lit- 
erally, and pitilessly true to life in his powerful delineations. He is a French Thackeray. The talent 
of the two men — the author of Vanity Fair and the author of the Assommoir — is almost identical, 
modified in each by the conditions of their nationality and of the society for which they wrote. Place 
Thackeray in Paris, the son of Parisian parents, and Vanity Fair will become exasperated into La 
Curce. Transfer Zola to London, and transform him into an Englishman, and he will write The Story 
of Pendennis instead of The History of the Rougon-Macquarts. Nor are Zola’s books the epheme- 
ral productions of an hour. They are immortal because they are true. Two hundred years from now, 
historians seeking to tell the tale of the France of the Second Empire and the Third Republic, will 
turn to Zola as to a gallery of photographs taken from the life. Zola is in literature what Holbein was 
in art. His immense hold over the sympathies of the lower orders was never more fully shown than 
since the production of the melodrama drawn from his novel of Nana, at the Ambigu. I went on 
Saturday night last, and the throng was extraordinary. And here let it be stated, once for all, that 
Nana is not an indecent play. It is superbly put upon the stage, is admirably played, and is a very 
curious and accurate study of an important phase of Parisian life. *‘Nana” is simply a realistic 
'‘Camille.” She is a frivolous, good-hearted, conscienceless creature, and as for remorse, or aspirations 
after a purer or nobler life, such ideas never cross her brain. She holds in her vacant soul one nobler 
instinct, and that is her love for her child. In this respect Zola has been true to life as in other details. 

LIST OF EMILE ZOLA’S GREAT WORKS. 

IVana! The Sequel to “ L’ Assommoir.” IK'aiia! By Emile Zola. With a Picture oj 

**Nana ” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Nana's Motlier; or. E’ Assommoir. By Emile Zola, author of '"Nana." With a 
Picture of^Gervaise," Nana’s mother, on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or One Dollar in Cloth, 

Th^ri^se Kaqtiin. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” With a Portrait of " Emile Zola” 
oh the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar in Cloth, Black and Gold, 

Ea Ciiri^c. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or One Dollar 
in Cloth, Black and Gold, 

MagtSalen Forat. By Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” With a Picture of "Magdalen 
Ferat” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

C’lorintla; or, Zola’s Court of Naj>oleoiS III. By Emile Zola . 2i\.\x.hor of " Nana.” 
With a Picture of"Clorinda ” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

ACl>ine; or, Tke Abbe's Temptatioai. (Ea Faiite <?e E’ASjbe Moiirot.) By 

Emile Zola. With a Picture of "Albine” on the cover. Price 75 cents in paper, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

H6R*ne: a Eove E|»isode; or, Une Page I>’ABiio«r. By E 7 nile Zola, author of 
"Nana.” With a Picture of"Helhte ” oti the cover. Price 75 cents in paper cover, or ^1.25 in Cloth. 

The Kongon-Macquart Family; or, Mielle. (Ea FortwHe cles Rougon.) 

6 y Emile Zola, author of "Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth. 

The Conquest of Piassans; or, Ea C’onqsiele <le Plassaus. By Emile Zola, 
author of " Nana.” Price 75 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

The Markets of Paris; or, Ee Veiistre <Se B*aris. By Emile Zola, author of 
"Nana.” Price 73 cents in paper cover, or $1.25 in Cloth, Black and Gold. 

Above Books are for sale by all Booksellers and Neivs Agents ezieryrvhere , and on all RaiL 
Road Trains, or copies of ajiy one book, or all of them, zuill be sent to any one, to any place, at once, 
mail, post-paid, on remitting the price of the ones wanted in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


LIBRARY EDITION, IN MOROCCO CLOTH. 


12 Volumes, at ©l-TS Each; or $21.00 a Set. 


T. B. PETERSON' & BROTHERS, No. 306 Chestnut Street, Phila- 
ddphia^ ham jud iniblis/ied an entire new^ complete^ and uniform edition of 
all the celebrated Novels written hy the popular American Novelist^ Mrs, Car- 
oline Lee Hentz, in twelve large duodecimo volumes. They are printed on the 
finest paper,, and bound in the most beautiful style,, in Green Morocco cloth,, 
with a new,, full gilt back,, and sold at the low price of $1.75 cac/i, or $21.00 
for a full and complete set. Every Family and every Library in this country,, 
should have in it a complete set of this new and beautiful edition of the works 
of Mrs, Caroline Lee Hentz, The following is a complete list of 

MBS. OABOLINE LEE HENTZ’S WORKS. 

LINDA; or, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 

With a Complete Biography of Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz. 
ROBERT GRAHAM. A Sequel to “Linda.” 

RENA ; or, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. 

MARCUS WARLAND ; or, The Long Moss Spring. 

ERNEST LINWOOD; or. The Inner Life of the Author. 

EOLINE; or, MAGNOLIA VALE; or, The Heiress of Glenmore. 
THE PLANTER’S NORTHERN BRIDE; or, Mrs. Hentz’s Childhood. 
HELEN AND ARTHUR; or, Miss Thusa’s Spinning-Wheel. 
COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; or, The Joys of American Life. 
LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE; and other Stories of the Heart. 

THE LOST DAUGHTER ; and other Stories of the Heart. 

THE BANISHED SON; and other Stories of the Heart. 

l^A6owe Books are for sale hij all Booksellers at $1.75 each, or $21.00 for 
a complete set of the twelve volumes. Copies of either one of the above books, or 
a complete set of them, will be sent at once to any one, to any place, postage 
pre-paid, or free of freight, on remitting their price in a letter to the Publishers 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia, Pa. 


23 Volttraes, at $1.75 each.; or $40.00 a Set. 



T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philade/phUi, Pa., 
have just published an entire neu\ complete ^ and uniform edition of all the works icrit- 
ten by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, the popular American Authoress. This edition is in 
duodecimo form, is printed on the finest paper, is complete in tiventy-three rohnnes, and 
each volume is bound in morocco cloth, with a full gilt back, and is sold at the low price 
of $1.75 each, or $40.00 /or a full and complete set. Every Family and every Library 
in this country, should have in it a complete set of this neiv and beautiful edition of 
the works of Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. The following are the names of the volumes: 

NORSTON’S REST. THE RESGN3NG BELLE. 

BERTHA’S ENGAGEMENT. MARRIED IN HASTE. 

BELLEHOOD AND BONDAGE; or, Bought with a Price. 

LORD HOPE’S CHOICE; or, Pv^ore Secrets Than One. 
THE OLD COUNTESS. Sequel to “Lord Hope’s Choice.” 

RUBY GRAY’S STRATEGY ; or, Married by Mistake. 

PALACES AND PRISONS; or, The Prisoner of the Bastile. 

A NOBLE WOMAN ; or, A Gulf Between Them. 

THE CURSE OF GOLD; or. The Bound Girl and The Wife’s Trials. 
MABEL’S MISTAKE; or, The Lost Jewels. 

THE OLD HOMESTEAD; or, The Pet from the Poor House. 
THE REJECTED WIFE; or. The Ruling Passion. 

THE WIFE’S SECRET; or, Gillian. 

THE HEIRESS; or. The Gipsy’s Legacy. 

SILENT STRUGGLES; or, Barbara Stafford. 

WIVES AND WIDOWS; or, The Broken Life. 

DOUBLY FALSE; or. Alike and Not Alike. 

THE GOLD BRICK. THE SOLDIER’S ORPHANS. 

MARY DERWENT. FASHION AND FAMINE. 

Above hooks are for sale by all Booksellers at $1.75 each, or $40.00 for a com- 
plete set of the twenty-three volumes Copies of either one or more, of the above books, 
or a comjdete set of them, will be sent at once to any one. to any place, postage 
prepaidj or free of freight, on remitting their price in a letter to the Publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Pliiladelpliia, Pa, 



BY THOMAS P. MAY, 


A-iitlior of ‘^Tlie JHa,!*! of 


“A Prince of Breffny^^ is the title of Mr. Thomas P. May^s new novel. 
The hero of this charming book has already been rendered famous by Byron 
in Don Juan, where he is spoken of by Dona Julia, as follows: 

“Is it for this that General Count O'Reilly, 

Who took Algiers, declares I used him vihdy?” 

Alexander O'Reilly was a famous soldier of fortune, and a brilliant ex- 
ample of men of his class and times. He was the first Spanish Governor of 
Louisiana. While the autlior has adhered to history in the main, he has used 
his license by not touching on the American career of his hero — further than 
to mention O’Reilly's services in the Spanish colonies. Like its famous 
predecessor, “The Earl of Mayfield,” this work is an historical romance, 
and the times in which O’Reilly lived are faithfully portrayed. The book 
has a clearly defined, healthful value, and its distinguished author evidently 
seeks to add to his laurels by the production of a, series of works at once 
pleasure giving and instructive. The author’s powers of narration are re- 
markable. In the terrible scene on shipboard — where the beautiful and noble 
heroine, Edith Talbot (there are two heroines, by-the-by), bravely meets her 
doom, in fulfilment of the sibyl’s pro])hecy — the language is pathetic and 
powerful ; grace and strength are happily combined, and we are wonderfully 
moved by the tragic denouement. An ordinary writer would have termi- 
nated his story at this point, fearing to risk the loss of so fascinating a char- 
acter as Edith; but the perfect ])lot smoothly overcomes this danger by 
chaining the interest to the second heroine, Doha Rosa, who has already 
been introduced in a most tantalizing manner. But we must not give the 
•whole plot; we will only mention the inimitable Shamus — a true specimen 
of a devoted Irish servant — who fully maintains his nation’s ref)utation for 
humor and cheerfulness, amid tragic surroundings. Pretty Phoebe — Edith’s 
loyal maid — is an attractive girl, who merits our sympathy and love. Jen- 
ico Preston is a noble character, to whom we cannot do justice in this brief 
review. Charles III. of Spain is also made much of. The incidents of the 
riot in Madrid, where O’Reilly won his rank as a Grandee of Spain, are 
highly wrought and exciting. Other historical personages are brought into 
the ever-varying action — among these is the celebrated priest-earl, Gilbert 
Talbot, who is a unique character. Alveton Lodge is beautifully pictured 
as the seat of a great English noble, in the last century. This estate is now 
known as Alton Towers, the princely residence of the Earls of Shrewsbury. 
There are exquisite descri})tions of scenery in England, in Ireland, in Italy, 
and in Spain. The account of the discovery of Pompeii by Colonel Preston 
is intensely absorbing. Occasion is deftly seized to sketch Naples and Vesu- 
vius as they were more than one hundred years ago. The author has mate- 
rially added to his high reputation, and his numerous readers will be amply 
repaid by the perusal of “A Prince of Breffny.” 


One Volume, Duodecimo. IVIorocco Cloth, Gilt and Black. $1.50. 


Prince of Breffny " is for sale by all Booksellers and News AgentSy 
or copies will he sent to any one, to any placOy on remitting price to the publisherSy 

T. B. PETEKSON & BBOTHERS, Pliiladelpliia, Pa. 


SABINE’S FALSEHOOD. 

A CHARMING LOVE STORY. 

By Madame la Princesse 0. Cantacuzene-Altieri. 

TRANSLATED FROM THE REVUE DES DEUX MONDES 

BY MARY NBAL SHERWOOD. 


Those Americans who are familiar with current French literature have watched 
with no small degree of interest the appearance of a new name in the pages of the 
Revue des Deux Mondes. This feuilleton enjoys the enviable distinction of having 
been the first to perceive the merits of Henry Greville, and to present her to the 
public. That lady had sent her “ Expiation de Saveli” to publisher after publisher, 
only to have it returned to her. Finally, heart-sick and discouraged, she determined 
to “ brave the lion in his den,” and boldly submitted the manuscript to the redoubt- 
able Revue, when it was promptly accepted. From this moment her success was 
assured. ^ladanie la Princesse O. Cantacuzene-Altieri may or may not have gone through 
with similar rebuffs from indiscriminating publishers; certain it is, however, that her 
first a])pea ranee, also, was in tha Revue des Deux Mondes. She at once aroused the 
interest, curiosity and admiration of the coterie of French critics, who are by no means 
easy to please. From them “ Sabine’s Falsehood ” has won golden laurels. The 
Messrs. Peterson, with their happy faculty of seizing on the best things, and Mr». 
Mary Neal Sherwood, with the discrimination that characterizes her selections, have 
together given us an opportunity of enjoying one of the most charming stories that 
has come under our observation for a long time. The book is one that may be put 
into the hands of any young girl. Indeed, we may go further, and say it ought to be 
put in the hands of every young girl. The story is exquisitely told, and is one of sim- 
ple pathos, the plot admirably managed, and the characters well conceived and vividly 
drawn. The incidents are natural, and might easily liave come to pass in any New 
England town. Not only is it a love story, pure and simple, but it is also the story of a 
sister’s noble self-sacrifice, a self-sacrifice of which only a woman could be ca})able. 
Sabine arouses our interest from the beginning; we see in her “ the y>erfect woman, 
nobly planned,” her very faults are virtues in excess. Flora is one of the most 
bewitching creatures in modern fiction. The old father with his hatred of “weeds,” 
and his utilitarian ideas, is very droll, and the neighbors in the chateau, the contrast 
drawn between the romantic old maid and the strong-minded one, is most cleverly 
managed. The two heroes — for this book has two heroes — are, while totally unlike, 
equally interesting and inimitable in their way. We heartily recommend this story 
to old and young, many an hour of pain will be soothed by its perusal, and many a 
lonely moment beguiled. We feel that all will thank us for drawing their attention 
to “Sabine’s Falsehood” — for while French, it is not Frenchy — and that they 
mtII agree with us in thinking it amusing and pathetic, delicate, dainty and graceful. 


Paper Cover, 50 Cents. Morocco Cloth, Gilt and Black, $1.00. 


Sabine^ s Falsehood ” is for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or copies will 
be sent to any place, at once, per mail, post-paid, on remitting price to the publishers, 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Pliilaclelpliia, Pa. 


Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Sontliwortli’s New Book. 


THE BRIDAL EVE; 

BY MBS. E. D. E. K SOIJTHWOETH. 

One Volume, Square 12mo. Paper Cover. Price. Seveiify-Ove Cents. 

“The Bridal Eve; or, Rose Elmer is one of Mrs. Emma D. E. N. Southworth^s 
most jmwerful and absorbing novels. Mrs. South worth unquestionably stands at the 
head of American fiction-writers, and it has long been a matter of general regret that, 
owing to their being copyright works, it was impossible to issue her universally 
admired books in cheap form. These difticulties having been arranged, the Messrs. 
Peterson are now enabled to publish “The Bridal Eve” at Seventy-five Cents a 
copy, an exceedingly low price that should place it in everybody’s hands. Mrs. South- 
wortli has always been a great and deserved favorite with all lovers of sterling and 
intensely interesting romances, and her hold upon the public has strengthened year by 
year, until her name has become a household word and her popularity phenomenal. 
The reason of this is plain. All her novels go straight to the mark, fascinating, thrill- 
ing and enchaining. There is never a prosy paragraf)h, never a dull line. All is 
fresh, original, strong, ingenious and interesting. No American novelist has ever con- 
structed such plots, so deftly woven are they, so intricate and, at the same time, so 
rational and probable. In fact, as a plot-maker Mrs. Southworth has no superior in 
any country. She does not, like Wilkie Collins, frame a series of impossible compli- 
cations apparently for the pleasure of straightening out the tangled threads, but invents 
motives and causes as natural and possible when understood as inex}>licable and start- 
ling while unexplained. Mrs. Southworth’s invention knows no bounds. Hence all 
her romances difier radically from each other, and each is, so to speak, a new and stri- 
king revelation in the field of fiction. She excels, too, in individualizing her characters, 
and handles a score of personages in a tale with ease, skill and effect worthy of Dickens. 
Her style of composition is as vigorous and brisk as the action of her remarkably felic- 
itous stories. “ The Bridal Eve” is worthily classed among her very best produc- 
tions. It is a love romance with two heroines, both of whom have faithful and faithless 
suitors, and both of whom are members of the English aristocracy. The noble self- 
denial of Laura in surrendering the Barony of Swinburne to the beautiful cottage girl. 
Rose, whom she believes to be the rightful heiress, and the sweet, womanly nature of 
the latter, win the heart of the reader at the outset, and the subsequent trials and 
adventures of these true women intensify the interest excited in them. Cassinove’s 
fearful peril and his wife’s devotion to him within the shadow of the gallows are stir- 
ring features of the powerful tale, while Thugsen’s unparalleled career of crime is pic- 
tured in very vivid colors. The dissolute Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV., 
figures in the novel, and among the characters are many of the British nobility of the 
time. The scene is laid principally in London during the fashionable season, and the 
reader is shown in turn the palace of royalty, the hovel of the poor, the rookery of 
the criminal and the felon’s cell in Newgate. The contrasts are sharp and the succes- 
sion of thrilling incidents is almost unending, while the action never for a moment 
pauses, the interest never for an instant flags. The reader is kept in a flutter of excite- 
ment from the beginning to the close, and, as surprise follows surprise, is lost in won- 
der as to the probable solution of the various mysteries. “ The Bridal Eve” should 
be read by everybody, as, no doubt, it will be in its present popular and cheap shape. 

The Bridal Eve^* is for sale by all Booksellers and News Agents^ or copies 
of it will be sent to any one^ at oncty post-paid^ on remitting 75 cents to the publishers^ 

T. B. PHTSBSON & BKOTM£KIS, Philadelphia, Pa. 






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